Heal
by Ozma333
Summary: Directly after the Final Battle, Ron, Hermione, Harry and Ginny find their own ways to heal. R/H, H/G viewpoints.
1. Chapter 1

Heal

Chapter One

The crowd in the Great Hall was starting to thin. Ron sat with Hermione leaning into him, her head finding rest on his shoulder. He noticed her hand still firmly encased by Ginny's. Ron reached one hand up to stroke her hair.

"We need rest," he murmured so that only Hermione could hear him. She nodded against his arm.

"Mum," Ron stood, tugging Hermione up with him. "We're going up to the dormitories. We need some sleep." Mrs. Weasley blinked up at Ron, her stare somewhat blank. Ginny stirred and turned to look up as well, her eyes fearful. Ron understood immediately. She didn't want to be  
left behind.

"Ginny's coming with us; we'll take care of her. You all should get some sleep too," Ron ended, sounding exhausted and drained, but the authority rang from his voice.

"I know dear," Mrs. Weasley responded, her eyes glassy and faraway. "But George…"

"They'll sleep, son," Mr. Weasley interrupted as Ron's jaw set. "I'll see to it. Go." Ron nodded tightly as he pulled Ginny to her feet, wrapping her underneath his arm and reaching for Hermione with his free hand.

They followed him without question and for that he was grateful.

The walk to the dorm was dreamlike. Hermione's hand was warm within his and Ginny trembled slightly as they passed through the broken castle. Distant creaks and cracks could be heard and whether it was the castle being repaired or falling further apart, Ron could not be sure. Ginny mumbled a password when they reached the Fat Lady, though Ron wasn't sure any was even needed. Hermione paused as they crossed the threshold, her eyes darting to the girl's stair but Ron tugged her forwards.

"Not tonight," he mumbled. "Tonight we all stay together."

His eyesight stayed forward so he couldn't see their responses, but they both followed behind him without protest. Ron didn't stop again until he was in front of the six-year dorms, looking back to Hermione in question.

"He'll be in there," Hermione answered his unasked question, "because that's what he left." Ginny nodded her agreement and Ron pushed open the door. The room was darkened save for one bluebell flame, which flickered lightly in the middle of the floor. Ginny pushed past Ron, her gaze flickering to each of the enclosed four-poster beds.

"That one Gin," Ron pointed, indicating the bed Harry had slept in last year. She nodded and then drew back the curtain.

Harry lay quite still, his glasses still in place, his blood and dirt spattered clothing askew, his trainers still clad to his feet. It was only the soft breathing that marked him as alive and for one horrid moment, Ron recalled with perfect clarity his best mate dead in Hagrid's arms, and then Tonks and Lupin, actually dead on the cold stone floor, laying not feet from his own brother. A muffled sob indicated that Ginny had made that same journey. Tears were streaking a clear track down her face but her eyes didn't move from the gentle rise and fall of Harry's chest.

"Fetch some pajamas for Harry and Ginny?" Ron asked Hermione, turning to her and finding her staring up at him, the only eyes in the room not trained on Harry. She nodded and stooped to search through her bag.

"Ginny," Ron started softly, coming up behind his sister and putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Hermione and I are going to use the loo. We have some pajamas here—"

"And some dittany," Hermione interrupted.

"It's for you and Harry. Are you alright?"

Ginny nodded slowly as she regarded her elder brother.

"If you need our help, let us know," Ron added as he tugged on Hermione's hand. She paused, ran to Ginny and engulfed her in a hug, whispering something unintelligible to Ron in her ear.

Ginny smiled. "Love you too, Hermione," she whispered, staring at the items Hermione had shoved into her hand. "Thanks Ron," she added as her eyes drifted back to Harry's prone body. Ron nodded stiffly and cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the intense look with which Ginny regarded Harry, but understanding of the emotions behind such a gaze. Harry loved her too; Ron knew that.

"C'mon," he whispered in Hermione's ear, and with one last look, he pulled Hermione through to the boy's loo.

He released her hand to shut the door, bolting it as he did so. "We don't need any interruptions," Ron grunted. Hermione's eyes were wide but she nodded. She stood in the middle of the loo and took in her surroundings.

It was clean at least, Ron noted. It was not touched from the battle; no debris was falling. Ron noticed Hermione's eyes widen as she took in the showers. There were stalls, but no curtains. It had never been a problem for the six blokes who shared the dorm.

"We both need a shower Hermione," Ron whispered, coming up behind her and taking the bag from her hand. "We haven't had one since Shell Cottage. And Ginny could use some time alone with Harry."

Hermione whipped around as Ron finished, her eyes alight with wonder, and was it possibly admiration? "Who are you and what have you done with my Ron?"

"Your Ron, eh?" Ron felt his lips quirk in a small, but genuine, smile. It was the first real smile since the battle ended.

Hermione flushed but nodded, turning to regard the showers once more before stepping closer and twisting the tap. Water, hot and steaming, issued from the wall and Hermione turned to look once more at Ron before sliding her feet out of her trainers and unfastening her cloak. Ron's heart froze at the sight.

_Hermione's undressing…_

She kept her back to him as she pulled her jumper over her head and peeled her socks off. She coughed lightly as she reached for the hem of her undershirt but she paused, looking over her shoulder at Ron.

Ron seemed to come back to himself.

_What the hell am I doing?_

His brain had short-circuited and his muscles had locked into place and it wasn't until her shy smile that Ron was jerked back into reality. This was not a replaying fantasy. This was Hermione, trusting him enough to shower next to him after a battle that had torn his life apart. His mother sat coma-like next to the body of his dead brother, his best mate had died and come back to life, his sister looked broken…

Ron shook his head and moved to the stall next to her, quickly shedding his clothing and turning the shower on full blast.

The hot water hit him forcefully and Ron leant into the wall, arms outstretched to support his weight, his head bent as water cascaded down his back. He took a deep breath.

_It wasn't supposed to be like this._

They were supposed to be glorious in their triumph, drinking firewhiskey and toasting to their success, whooping and hollering as fireworks lit the sky.

And suddenly Ron knew, there would be no fireworks. Because who would set them off? Not George, and certainly not Fred…

He bit back a sob.

Hermione moaned. "Merlin Ron, this feels incredible."

And just like that an old fantasy, an early one of his involving Hermione accidentally finding her way into the boy's loo, imploded the scene in his mind's eye. He groaned.

"Yeah," he rasped in return, rolling his neck to loosen some stiffness. "It really does."

Hermione moaned again and Ron bit his lip.

_Damn that woman!_

His reaction to the simple noises she made while bathing was intense. He could hear her shift under the stream of water, hear her lather soap unto a washcloth, and his randy mind was imagining the path that washcloth must have to travel.

"Have you… have you washed your hair yet?" Ron asked, wincing slightly as his voice cracked.

"No, why?" she answered, her voice simple and direct and yet curious.

"No reason." But Ron was envisioning the moment, her head thrown back, her breasts thrust out, her hair heavy and wet as her fingers ran through it and water ran down her body leaving slick, wet trails. Ron shuddered and moaned, shaking his head in attempt to clear the thoughts. He heard Hermione chuckle softly but it turned quickly into a hiss.

"What? What's wrong?" Ron asked, having to restrain himself from going to her himself and raking his eyes over her body, proving to himself that she was okay.

"Nothing, nothing," Hermione gasped in reply. "It's just the burns, from the vault. The hot water doesn't feel too good on them."

Ron relaxed and noted with surprise that his own burns did, in fact, sting a little. He had been so consumed it had escaped his attention until now. "I'll rub some dittany on you after. That should help."

He heard a choked gasp from Hermione and chuckled.

"If you'd like, that is," he added, smiling slightly to himself, shaking his head.

"I would," Hermione muttered softly.

Ron grinned and reached for the soap.

_Merlin, I love that witch. _

He sighed as he scrubbed the dirt and blood off his arms and chest. He found several scrapes and cuts he could not remember receiving. Some of the blood seemed to lack a source, which Ron realized meant it wasn't his blood. He shuddered and then winced as the soap scrubbed over some fingerprint-shaped bruises on his biceps.

They were Hermione's fingerprints.

She had held him back, kept him from forsaking Harry once more and running, following Percy as he chased Death Eaters. Ron felt the sting of tears assault his eyes.

_Fred._

He would never see his brother laugh again, never hear Fred tease him, or be victim to the twins pranks.

"Ron?"

He shook his head and cleared his throat. "Yeah?" Ron's voice was rougher than he hoped it'd be.

"I… I'm so sorry, Ron, I—"

"Don't Hermione," Ron interrupted, softness infusing his tone. He wasn't angry, but he couldn't talk about this now. Not now when he already felt he was about to fall apart.

"Sorry," she whispered and Ron heard her water shut off and saw a couple of towels float through the air towards her.

"S'alright," Ron muttered, twisting the knob shut and running his fingers through his hair to ring out the excess. Hermione's now clean hand reached into his shower stall, holding a towel out for him. "Thanks," he said, grabbing the towel from her while running his finger down the length of her hand. He could have been mistaken, but he thought he felt her hand tremble.

"I have clothes too," Hermione mumbled before clearing her throat. "And the dittany."

"Right," Ron said, wrapping the towel around his waist. "You decent?"

"Erm, sort of," Hermione answered, sounding vaguely distracted. "Come over."

She was bent over the small bag, a towel clutched to her chest, as her free hand brought pajama bottoms and a large tee shirt to the surface. She stood as Ron came closer, wavering slightly with her eyes downcast, and as the towel swung in front of her Ron caught a glimpse of her nearly nude hip and the inch or so of blue fabric that encased it.

"I, erm," she faltered, looking up at him at last and seeming mesmerized by his stare. "Sorry, I couldn't find the other sets." She held out the pajamas to him, the mismatched pair of stripy bottoms and an old, orange shirt. He grabbed the bottoms but shook his head when she offered the shirt.

"You take that part then," he said, his eyes betraying him as they traveled over her form. Her hair was still dripping and the rogue drops that found their way to her shoulders and neck were finding the most interesting paths to travel as gravity worked its' magic. "But turn around first and I'll use the dittany."

Hermione nodded and swallowed, it seemed with difficulty, as she handed him the small bottle. "That's all I have left and we'll need it for you too, so—"

"Hermione, turn around," Ron interrupted, his voice soft but demanding. She seemed to be breathing heavily as she complied.

With her back to him, and the towel almost completely out of sight, Ron only seeing it when she shifted and it swung by her side, she was almost completely nude. Her knickers were all blue, as Ron suspected from the glimpse he had already caught and they hugged her bum in a way Ron wished his hands could do. She seemed nervous and she shifted again so Ron moved closer, resting his hand on her hip, and breathed in her ear, "Relax, it's just me."

She sighed as he said it and stopped shifting.

Ron uncorked the bottle and poured a generous amount of dittany unto his fingertips. It was cool as he found the burns on her back and Hermione dipped her head as she moaned in relief.

Ron chuckled softly in her ear. "Better?" he whispered.

"Mhmm," Hermione hummed in response, relaxing completely as he continued his ministrations down her back.

Ron smiled in satisfaction as he watched Hermione's breathing relax, her shoulders slump slightly as her hurts were soothed away. He was glad he could do this for her, after all the hurt he had dealt her in the past.

Her skin was stretching tightly over the newly healed burns and the flat planes of her back looked nearly whole again. Ron's eyes drifted lower and found the edge of a particularly long burn peeking from the band of her knickers. His hand released the hip he had been holding in place and Hermione went to turn, but Ron dipped his fingers just under the waistband of her panties and tugged. She froze.

"Not yet," he whispered. "There's just one more."

Her back was straight again but she nodded.

Ron tugged the edge of her knickers down slightly. It was a rather large burn, considering its' location, the shaped of a large golden Galleon imprinted just along her upper curve. Ron soaked his fingers in dittany while his other hand kept her waistband lowered. He could see she was breathing heavily again.

"How did you get these burns all down your back?" he asked, leaning close so his voice was no more than a whisper and chuckling lightly.

"The robes—" Hermione started but the rest of her already shaky explanation was cut off by a moan. Ron's fingers had just begun caressing the dittany into her skin, sinking just a bit lower than was technically necessary and massaging gently. Hermione's head threw back and Ron found his lips just inches from the smooth column of her neck. He had to resist the temptation of burying his mouth there.

"What about the robes?" he prompted, continuing his massage though he was already quite sure the dittany had found every centimeter of that particular burn.

"They," Hermione swallowed heavily before continuing and Ron noticed her breathing had picked up again. "They were so big on me. Bellatrix… she was so much taller than…"

Hermione stopped talking, it seemed so that she could concentrate on her breathing. A blush had stole its' way up her neck and Ron knew if he turned her now, her chest and face would be flushed.

_But, no Ron. Not now. Not with Fred…_

Ron replaced the waistband of her knickers gently, smoothing it out as it came back into contact with her skin. Hermione did not attempt to turn this time, but unlike before her shoulders were relaxed, her posture easy. She was not uncomfortable now. Ron dipped his head behind her as he shut his eyes, resting his forehead on her shoulder and willing himself the strength to keep from crying. He hadn't done that yet.

Oh, a few stray tears in the midst of the battle…

But he hadn't mourned for his brother, hadn't unleashed this torrent of grief that he had walled up inside.

Hermione stood quietly, allowing Ron his time to collect himself. He felt a single hand come to his hair and stroke it gently and a wave of affection and love and belonging swept him. He opened his eyes and was met with the sight of her perfectly healed, smooth back, the curve of her bum disappearing into those lovely blue knickers, and her long legs supporting herself, and in a way, supporting him. A rush of fierce devotion and lust tore through him and before he could think about it, his hand reached forward and cupped her bum, stroked it and clung to it the way he had, not so many minutes before, dreamed of doing.

The noise that escaped her, a mix somewhere between a whimper and a moan, was what undid him. He whirled her in his arms, crushed her to his chest, and pressed his mouth to hers. She was quick to respond.

Hermione threaded her fingers through his hair; the towel she had been clutching to her chest long forgotten as it fluttered to the floor between them. Ron could feel the soft fullness of her breasts pressed into his chest. He opened his lips and she copied him, pressing her tongue to his as he groaned into her mouth.

Ron's hands traveled from her naked back lower, tracing the boundaries of her knickers. She whimpered and writhed under his touch, pressing her body more fully into him. Ron felt a surge of joy and sheer recklessness at her responses and then a crushing guilt.

_Fred_.

How could he do this to him, to his family? How could he stand here, nearly naked with the woman he loved and forget everything else; forget how George was hurting, refusing to leave Fred's side; how his father was attempting to keep his family together, despite his mother's glassy stare; forget his sister tending to his best mate, who for all intents and purposes had died today?

Ron broke off with a sob, burying his face into Hermione's neck as those long-awaited tears flowed from his eyes.

"'M sorry, Hermione," Ron mumbled against her neck, his tears moistening her skin.

Hermione just shushed him, her hands stroking his back as she held him tightly.

"It's not fair," he muttered, clutching her to him. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

"I know, I know," she soothed, her voice slightly cracked as she smoothed his hair and traced the lines of his back. "But Harry's here, and Ginny. Your mum and dad are okay and lots of people made it and—"

"And you're here," Ron interrupted, choking slightly on the words.

"I'll always be here, Ron." Hermione's answer was soft yet nothing had ever rung so loudly in Ron's ears. He held her all the tighter for it.

It took several moments, and quite a few shuddering breaths before Ron was able to pull himself back together. He became intensely aware of their situation. Ron was still clad in only the towel, which hung loosely from his hips. Hermione was even less dressed and he felt responsible for her loss of towel in the first place. But Ron didn't want things to be so awkward between them. They had been that way for far too long. He loved her and he trusted her and he hoped she felt the same. Though his mind was in no place for any kind of sexual encounter, Ron felt the simple and innocent acts of showering and dressing together shouldn't embarrass either of them at this point. Hadn't they seen each other at their absolute worse and their absolute best? All he wanted now was to just take care of her.

He slowly moved his hands to her hips and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"You know I love you, don't you?" he asked, his voice slightly hoarse from his moment of release. He heard a sharp intake of breath that indicated to him that Hermione had heard him.

"Oh Ron," Hermione whimpered, throwing her arms around his neck and rising to her tip-toes before breathing in his ear, "I love you too, you great prat!" He chuckled into her neck and bent to retrieve her shirt.

When he stood again, Hermione had stepped back, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes downcast, her face flushed. He regarded her tenderly, wanting nothing more than to take care of her for the rest of her life.

"Raise your arms, Hermione."

Her head shot up and she stared at him, blinking in confusion. Ron held up the shirt he had retrieved and nodded his affirmation. Her cheeks flushed even brighter.

"Ron, I—"

"Lift up your arms, love," Ron interrupted, and he hoped his tone was gentle and reassuring, because that's what he meant it to be. Hermione gazed straight into his eyes, swallowed, and then did as she was told.

Ron stepped closer, keeping his eyes locked with hers as he slid her hands through the large armholes. Her breathing was incredibly distracting, reminding him with every sharp intake from where exactly she was drawing breath. His eyes left her face and took in the sight of her as his hands locked over her wrists, keeping the shirt bunched in place.

Ron sucked in a breath.

"You're beautiful."

And he meant it, every syllable. And even his reverent, hushed tone couldn't justify how sincerely he felt his words to be the truth.

And then Ron's brow furrowed as he caught sight of something he had never seen before, something he had not known Hermione to possess, a faded scar that ran directly between her breasts, over her heart. One hand left her wrists, though Hermione kept her freed arm up, opening herself to him, and his fingertips traced its' length.

His eyes sought hers in question, and he found her whimpering slightly and looking completely out of breath. Somewhere, in the recesses of his mind he was thrilled at her response to his simple touch, but more insistently he needed to know when and how that had happened. She faltered a bit under his gaze, her throat bobbing as she fought to swallow.

"The Department of Mysteries," she whispered in answer to his unasked question. It must have been the curse Dolohov had hit her with. Ron had known it was bad, intended even to be fatal. But he had never before seen the evidence.

He dragged her shirt lower, covering her arms completely, but before he brought it over her head, he stooped low and pressed a kiss to that old scar. Hermione sucked in a breath.

Ron raised his head to hers, placed the shirt over her head, and lowered it completely, covering her from his eyes. He reached around her to free her hair, letting it fall on her shoulders before gathering her up in his arms. She was decidedly shaky, falling into him with a breathy shudder and clinging tightly.

"I do love you," he whispered into her hair.

"Ron, this may sound so terrible," she started off, her voice shaken, "but I'm so glad you didn't have to die, I'm so happy we have the chance to… to…"

"Shush, Hermione, I know," Ron soothed her, breaking in when she could no longer continue. "And we will, every day we'll have that chance." She nodded into his chest. "Let's get to bed."

Hermione stepped back from him and he turned to get the pajama bottoms that had been left forgotten on the floor. With his back to her, he dropped his towel and donned the clothing, smiling a bit at the gasp she issued when he did so.

He turned back around with a smirk and she swatted at him.

"You did that on purpose!"

"What?" he asked, fake innocence coloring his tone. "I thought we could act adult about all this, after all…" he trailed off, but his hand caught the hem of her shirt and tugged her closer, fingers trailing on her bare skin underneath the worn shirt. Hermione shuddered.

"Stop that," she protested lightly, eyes already closing. And Ron decided right then that in a few days time, when the guilt wouldn't threaten to overcome him at any moment, he was going to have a lot of fun discovering this new side to Hermione.

"C'mon you," he whispered, moving his fingers to her hand and tugging her towards the door. She followed with a sigh.

A washbowl and a small pile of used towels sat disregarded in the center of the room. Harry, with a set of clean pajamas, the parts of his body Ron could see clean and healed, lay snuggled into an equally clean Ginny. Both were sound asleep, wrapped in each other's arms.

"That was good of you, Ron," Hermione whispered, leaning into him as they watched the sleeping pair. Ron grunted.

"He needs her," he reasoned gruffly. "And Ginny could do worse."

Hermione beamed at him and pulled him to his bed. She turned down the covers and crawled between the sheets, looking up to him in invitation. He needed no further prompting. He curled up against her and fell promptly asleep, the smell of her shampoo assuaging his nightmares.

A/N This isn't completed and I'm breaking my own rules by publishing it, but it's being sitting on my laptop for over a year and I figured… why not? I do have seven chapters finished and that may end up being all that there is because there is really no defined end, just an overall feeling: healing. This is the story of the immediate aftermath of the Final Battle and the process of healing. Anyway, hope you enjoyed!

Next Chapter: Harry/Ginny. The story will rotate viewpoints between these four characters.

Cheers!

Ozma333


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

He lay there, broken and bleeding, his clothing torn and loose on his limp frame, his glasses dirty and still pressed to his face. But he was breathing, he was alive, he could be whole again.

_He could be whole again. _

Ginny repeated the mantra as she forced herself to take deep breaths through her nose, attempting to stifle any noise. She heard the bolt to the loo slip into place.

Ron and Hermione would give her time; she understood that. Why her brother had stopped being such an overprotective arse, she was sure she'd never know. But she wasn't going to question it tonight.

_He's such a mess,_ she thought tenderly as she stooped to take his glasses off his nose. It wasn't a new thought; she had had it many times before. She had always considered Harry Potter to be a bit of a mess. And through the tears that were still dripping down her face, she almost laughed.

But there was nothing remotely funny about this night.

This was the night her family was ripped apart. And her mother's face swam through Ginny's vision, almost obscuring from sight the boy who so desperately needed to be taken care of. She wiped her eyes.

He stirred and mumbled, his brow wrinkling as he relived what was sure to be the most horrific events of the past day. Ginny smoothed his hair from his head and leant close.

"It's just me," she whispered. "I'm here to take care of you." He groaned a bit and she saw his eyelids flutter in an attempt to open. She paused and bit her lip, feeling the need to clarify further.

_After all, it had been so long. _

"It's Ginny."

"I know," he rasped in response, giving up the fight to open his eyes and leaning back further into the pillow. "'M sorry, Ginny."

"Just relax, Harry," Ginny murmured, not trusting her already weakened voice with louder acclimations. "I'm going to clean you up a bit and settle you in." His sigh was the only response.

Ginny looked around the room, already stowing the pajamas and dittany Hermione had handed her on the foot of Harry's bed. There was a washbasin on one far chest of drawers and with a quick summoning charm, Ginny was supplied with several washcloths and some soap. She filled the basin with warm water from her wand and then turned back to Harry, who was already firmly asleep again. She bit her lip.

He was absolutely filthy, head to toe covered in grime. In some places it looked as though he had been mining, bits of dirt clung to his hair and seemed rubbed into the knees of his trousers. Blood seemed to be matted on every bit of him, some of it lacking sources. And there were shiny red patches of skin. If Ginny didn't know better, she would say he had been burned. His left knuckles were raw with what appeared to be teeth marks crusted over with grime. Ginny paused as she contemplated where to start.

His face drew her in, his scar shining brightly against his skin as it had always done. She bent and pressed her lips to it, remembering the intense reaction that used to elicit in him. He shivered slightly in his sleep. Gently, watching his features for a reaction of any kind, she brought the washcloth to his face and began to wipe away the filth. Harry stirred and sighed, but did not wake.

When she reached his first barrier, the collar of his shirt, she paused, watching him intently for any movement. When there was none she used her wand to cut through the material, leaving it in strips on the bed. She put her hand to her mouth to stifle her gasp. A bruise so large it looked as though Hagrid could have dealt it had blossomed on his chest, directly over his heart. She felt fresh tears well at the sight and she had to close her eyes to will them away.

_He could be whole again. He could be whole again. _

She forced her hand to the basin of warm, soapy water and ran the washcloth down his chest. He winced slightly and groaned as she cleaned over the bruise, but she was determined to continue and so did so as gently as possible.

When his torso, hands, and arms once again resembled a normal human's, she uncorked the dittany and dipped her fingers in the cool substance. She gently massaged each and every cut and abrasion, watching the skin stretch and knit as it healed just as Hermione had once told her it would. She was afraid to attempt any method of healing with his bruise, knowing something deeper and darker was at play there, and so let him alone for the time being.

Her eyes flit to the pajama shirt Hermione had given her. There was no way she could get that on him without waking him up. The bottoms she could probably roll up him, wriggling his hips a bit to get it over his bum. Ginny felt her face flush as she thought it.

But, honestly, did nudity even matter anymore? How many people had died that day? How many lives were ripped apart? Should Ginny be so overly concerned with seeing Harry without clothing? She shook her head and mentally berated herself for being so silly, so juvenile. There was nothing sexual to this; she was just here to take care of him.

_Well, blokes don't really need shirts anyway,_ she thought rationally as she tossed that garment to the floor. Ginny refocused on the task at hand. Figuring he would no longer need his trousers, as bloodied and stained as they were, she raised her wand and cut two long slits up both pant legs and right to the waistband, peeling back the remnants when she was done.

Her muffled gasp this time was more related to seeing Harry in just his shorts and not due to any horrific injury.

She longed to climb up into his arms, have him stroke her hair and whisper to her, telling her everything would be all right. She wanted to feel his hands on her skin and kiss him and explore in ways they had never had the time to do before. She wanted to whimper his name against the skin of his neck, feel his breathing wash over her, touch him…

But that was not why she was here this night. She was here for him, to comfort him, to hold him. And that would be enough.

Ginny sighed as she went back to washing Harry, knowing that disrobing him had really been the best choice. He truly needed this.

After the dittany had been applied and the old clothing stripped away, Ginny turned to search through the clothing pile Hermione had given her for fresh undergarments. She found none. Vexed, she turned back to Harry, biting her lip. She threw a cursory glance at the bathroom door, straining and hearing the sounds of the showers still running. She had time to do this.

Ginny felt a blush steal into her cheeks but she pushed her embarrassment firmly down as she took her wand to his already partially torn pants. The threadbare cotton gave way easily and Ginny gave only a perfunctory glance before squeezing her eyes shut as a familiar heat swirled in her lower belly.

_Merlin, he is gorgeous. _

She quickly shed him of the strips of cloth and lifted his legs through the pajama bottoms, rolling them all the way up his thighs before she had to jostle him even the smallest bit. He groaned as she wiggled his hips into the bottoms, her face much too close to his abdomen to be comfortable.

"Ginny?" Harry mumbled, his hand reaching out for her and settling shakily on her hip. Ginny swallowed with difficulty.

"I'm here, Harry," she murmured, placing her hands on either side of his chest and leveling her face a bit but not yet moving for fear of missing something.

"I'm sorry, Ginny, I'm really sorry…"

"Harry, don't," Ginny choked, feeling her eyes well with tears as memories of Fred laying there and George refusing to move from his side and her mum looking all glassy-eyed and distant assaulted her. Charlie had very nearly howled in grief when he had returned and Percy had yet to leave George. It was such a mess, all of it, and Ginny couldn't begin to think of it all now.

"But I am," Harry muttered, his eyes fluttering open at last, a vast sorrow borne there.

"But you don't have to be. You're okay and I'm here and—" But Ginny broke off as a sob overtook her. Harry's arms seemed to regain strength because they reached around her and pulled her to his chest.

"Harry, no, you're hurt!" Ginny protested, wiggling a bit to try to get off his awful looking bruise. Harry shushed her.

"I want you near," he whispered and Ginny choked a bit on her tears. "Every night I watched you, on the map, I never stopped thinking about you, about what was and could be happening to you. I dreamed of coming to see you." If anything this made Ginny sob all the harder into his chest. He held her tightly as her fingers curled uselessly against the bare skin of his chest. It was many moments before she calmed enough to breath evenly again.

"Ginny?" Harry murmured, nuzzling her hair.

"Hmm?"

"You're filthy."

Ginny laughed. It was the first laugh she could remember in some time and she let it play out. She laughed so hard, her sides had begun to ache.

"I've missed you Harry Potter," she choked out eventually, reaching up to brush the hair out of his eyes so she could gaze into them fiercely. Harry grinned down at her and for a flash Ginny saw the remnants of the eleven-year-old boy she had once fallen in love with.

_He would be whole again. _

"Wash up, and then," Harry paused, an uncharacteristic bit of shyness invading his tone. Ginny stared up at him inquisitively. "Then come back to bed with me?"

Ginny smiled and nodded, pecking him on the lips as she stood. She vanished the muddied water from Harry's bath and produced a fresh, clean stream of warm water. She heard Harry choke a bit and looked back to him in concern.

"You're… you're going to do it here?" he asked in a broken voice. Ginny's felt her eyebrows rise.

"Well, Ron and Hermione have commandeered the loo, so I thought… I mean if you mind…"

"No," Harry rasped. "I'm just… never mind…"

"You know," Ginny teased, dropping a fresh washcloth into the bowl, "you were so asleep while I bathed you and now you seem very awake."

"You bathed me?" Harry asked, and Ginny was beginning to wonder if something significant had happened to his voice in the past few months because surely it had never sounded this strangled and rasping before. Ginny nodded and stole another quick glance over Harry's bottoms. She saw his blush blossom from his neck up.

"Well, you were pretty dirty Harry. Am I expected to sleep with a man when he's just so filthy?" Ginny grinned as her cheeky double meaning caught Harry's attention. She saw his throat bob as he struggled to swallow. Ginny reached for her jumper, pulling that and her undershirt right over her head. Harry's eyes widened as she did so.

But really, so far it was nothing he hadn't seen before. They had done a fair bit of innocent exploring when they had been going out together, pressed into the secluded corners of Hogwarts, though no clothing had ever been removed. She faltered a bit and turned her back to him as she undid the clasp of her brassiere.

_Might as well go all the way. _

Gripping the wet washcloth tightly she scrubbed at her exposed skin, not able to see him but feeling Harry's eyes upon her. She didn't have nearly as many cuts and bruises as Harry did and so forwent the dittany, focusing instead of removing every trace of grime and dust that clung to her skin. She glanced over her shoulder once she had washed every bit of exposed skin, taking in the sight of Harry, breathing heavily and already under the covers, bunching the sheets in his hand as he watched her.

"Could you?" Ginny asked, her voice breathy as her eyes flit to the discarded pajama top. He nodded and handed it to her. "Thanks."

Ginny slipped her arms through, making quick work of the buttons that closed the flaps together before turning and reaching for the bottoms. With the matching stripy piece flung over her shoulder, she turned once more, undoing the button to her jeans. With a quick wiggle of her hips, they fell to the floor and Ginny bent low to wash her legs free of dirt. She smiled to herself as she heard Harry's sharp intake of breath.

Wanting to rid herself of any reminders of that day, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of her knickers and slid them off, bending to pull her pajama bottoms on. She knew Harry got a good, healthy look at her arse, but at that moment she couldn't have cared less. It wasn't as though she was honestly expecting to keep him from it for too long anyway.

"Shove over?" Ginny asked, nudging Harry as she lifted the covers to his bed. He scurried over to the farthest edge of the bed, creating more than enough room for Ginny to climb in. Ginny hid a smile as she ducked her head. She was aware that it wasn't because Harry wanted to stay away from her, but because he wanted to get too close to her that he moved away. "C'mere." she whispered, placing her hand on Harry's chest and pulling him closer. He complied with a shy smile and Ginny rest her head on his chest. She heard him inhale slowly.

"Goodnight Ginny," he murmured into her hair.

"Goodnight Harry, sleep well," she whispered back.

"I will now."

Ginny smiled as her eyes drifted closed.

A/N: Well, here's chapter two, I hope it didn't disappoint. The reviews have been so positive so far, I'm just thrilled! Thank you all so much!

Okay, so I'm at chapter eight… I think… and I've never done this before because usually when I publish the story is just about complete, but as I said before, this one's not. (I've been working really hard on an original story and I'm roadblocked so this is just me taking some recreation time to sort my other story out.) So I'm going to take some requests. Specifically: Is there any particular topic you think Hermione would want to confront/talk to Ron about? For example: The Yule Ball incident, Slughorn's Party, etc. Any ideas would be appreciated. Thanks!

Again, thanks for all the reviews!

Cheers!

Ozma333


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Hermione awoke and for the first time in months she did not wake already exhausted. She was warm and comfortable, if a bit crowded. A woodsy aroma she had once discovered in Amortentia surrounded her and she burrowed back, deeper into the source.

_Mmm, Ron…_

The events of yesterday came crashing back at her. Lupin and Tonks, Teddy alone, Voldemort dead, Harry nearly the same, Fred…

And then more pleasant imagery that cause a heat to flash from her chest and cheeks and then lower, a tingling that assaulted her lower belly in a way that hadn't happened in one of these four-posters in quite some time.

Hermione thought she should be embarrassed at how much Ron had affected her. She was practically panting for him last night! But she couldn't truly find it in her to mind. After all, it had been so long that she had entertained such desires in private, stealing moments to enact them in her fantasies, and now that she had something in living memory to replace those with, all Hermione felt was ecstasy.

Her fingertips stroked the arm that was grasped around her middle and Ron murmured unintelligibly for a moment before pulling her closer. Hermione sighed.

She wished they didn't have to leave this bed to face the awful day ahead of them. Yes, the war was over. And yes, the good side won. But the costs…

_And poor Ron! The poor Weasleys! They gave so much…_

And quite suddenly the flashing image of another family forced Hermione to close her eyes in sudden agony. A picture of a bucktoothed eleven-year-old and her two Muggle parents swarm in Hermione's vision.

_My parents._

Wendell and Monica would have to be found, found and put to rights. Would they understand? Could they ever truly be the family they once were, before their only daughter left them for a world they knew nothing of?

Suddenly, instead of wanting to stay in the bed for the entire day, Hermione wanted to go, to find a Portkey, make one illegally if she had to, but get to Australia as fast as possible. Get to Australia and find her parents and bring them home.

She twisted in Ron's arms and brought her lips to his jaw line, placing a gentle kiss.

"Ron?" she murmured. He stirred and then without opening his eyes, found her lips and kissed her hard, searchingly. He pressed her back into the soft bed, his hand tracing her outline.

"Merlin, I could wake up like that everyday," he rasped when he released her lips, moving his mouth to her neck and nuzzling closer. Hermione was left completely out of breath, the visions of Australia imploded when Ron's lips met hers. "Why are we awake, anyway?"

Hermione fought to find words, but his mouth was so distracting. He was sucking and nipping at the skin of her neck, his breath hot.

"I… erm," she stuttered through a shiver as Ron pulled her earlobe through his teeth. "It's… it's morning."

Ron pulled back a bit, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Do I distract you that much?" Hermione huffed, indignant.

"You… you do not distract me!"

"No?" he asked, eyes wandering over her. The blankets had fallen when Ron had flipped her and Hermione lay, still covered by only a long shirt. Her body betrayed her words as Ron's eyes rest on her breasts, the peaks of which were hardened, clearly visible through the thin cotton shirt. Ron's eyes returned to hers as his eyebrows quirked in question. She bit her lip as she felt a blush form.

"And if I do this?" Ron asked, trailing his fingertips lightly over her hip, dragging the shirt up with him until her navel was showing. She whimpered slightly, biting harder on her lip to keep noise from escaping, but she couldn't keep her body from squirming, or the way her hips jerked up, just fractionally, to meet his fingers. "No distraction?"

"None at all," she ground out, clenching her eyes shut. She heard Ron chuckle and then felt his lips on her stomach, his tongue swirling, his teeth nipping and she couldn't help from moaning.

_Merlin, he is very good at this!_

"I don't believe you, Miss Granger," he mumbled against her skin. "I believe I drive you to distraction and that you want me to continue for quite some time."

Hermione's thought suddenly flashed to what needed to be attended to today. The cleanup and the restoration and the speeches and, Merlin help them, the funerals.

"Ron, I do want this, Merlin knows I want it," she broke off in a breathy groan as Ron shifted her shirt even high, tracing the lower outline of her breast with his tongue. "I… I…"

"Then why not, Hermione?" he asked, raising his head and staring at her imploringly. "Can't we stay here? Not for long, but maybe an hour and just… just forget it all?"

"I… I'm not sure," she ground out, forcing her eyes open and locking gazes with Ron. "There's so much to do."

A sadness welled in his blue eyes, striking in its' depth.

"I know, but there's so much already done," he said, his voice soft but slightly unsure. "Don't we deserve a break? I... I just don't know if I can face them yet," he finished and Hermione knew he was talking about his family. Her heart melted.

And then it soared as Ron placed a gentle kiss on the tip of her nose, her eyelids, and finally her mouth. "Please?" he murmured against her lips and she broke apart completely. Hermione gripped his hair, brought his lips crashing into hers and opened her mouth immediately. Ron dove into her, embracing her with all he had and pressing the length of his body over hers.

It seemed that Hermione was not the only one aroused.

She moaned into his mouth when she felt his reaction to her, pressing against it in a way that should have made her flush from embarrassment, but there was an entirely different motivation behind her flush.

"Merlin, Ron," she muttered as he broke from her mouth and traced the line of her collarbone with his tongue. His hand was tracing her outline again, only drifting closer and closer to her chest. She pushed up into his hand when he finally caught the edge of her breast and he groaned as he sought her mouth again.

Hermione pressed her tongue against his, gripping him tightly, and his fingers finally found her hardened nipple through her shirt, found it and pulled at it gently.

"Bloody hell!" she cried out, wrenching her lips from his and throwing her head back. Nothing had ever felt so incredible. She didn't know she was quite as sensitive as all that until Ron proven it to her. But then suddenly the sensation stopped and Ron was shaking over her with his head buried in her neck and she was profoundly confused.

"Ron? What… why did you stop?"

And then she realized he was laughing.

"Are you… are you _laughing_ at me?" Hermione flushed with embarrassment for the first time and pulled her lip between her teeth.

"S'sorry, Hermione," Ron chortled. "But bloody hell, watch your language!"

Hermione opened her mouth to retort angrily, her face flushing red and her eyes flashing. But when Ron brought his head up to meet her and his eyes were dancing in amusement and his mouth was quirked in a genuine smile, she softened.

"So maybe you do distract me just the teeniest bit," she offered shyly, attempting to sit up and pulling her shirt down as she did.

"Hey!" Ron called, affronted. "Where do you think you're going?" He pushed her by her shoulders back unto the bed and mock-glared down at her. "You told me I could have an hour to have my way with you!"

"Have your way with me indeed," Hermione huffed, attempting to look put out but doubting she was succeeding as she crossed her arms. "I don't think I ever agreed to _that_ and if by 'have your way with me' you mean laughing at me—"

"I'm sorry," he said, so sincerely Hermione doubted it was in earnest. "It is right sexy when you swear," he added in what could be described as a growl as he lowered his head and nipped at her ear. Hermione felt his fingers pry her crossed arms apart and nudge them upwards. She complied and he had her arms pinned above her head in mere moments as he delved into her mouth again. It took only a few minutes to have her squirming and panting again and Ron broke away once more with a chuckle.

"Merlin, this relationship is going to be so much fun," he rasped as he leant back, his eyes roving her wiggling body as he kept her hands locked above her head.

"Not if you keep stopping before all the good parts!" Hermione ground out, frowning at him. Ron burst into laughter.

"And which are the good parts, Hermione," Ron asked as he eyed her tenderly. "Here?" And he let his fingers trace over one of her breasts, marking her with soft patterns. Hermione clenched her eyes shut and groaned as a jolt shot straight from the nipple Ron was caressing to between her legs.

"Mmm, yes, that's good," she murmured, sighing.

"Open your eyes," he commanded gently, and with great difficulty, she did. He was staring at her adoringly and her chest surged with the love she felt for this man. "Where else?" he asked in a whisper and Hermione noted that for the first time he looked a little unsure, a little nervous. Her eyes followed the path of her body down to the apex of her thighs without her telling them to and she flushed when she realized he had seen.

"I… I'm…"

But before she could explain, tell him she was sorry for being so ridiculously forward, his fingers were tracing the outline of her knickers.

"Here?" he asked, keeping his eyes locked with hers.

Her mouth had opened before her brain could scream stop. "A bit lower." He bit his lip and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath through his nose, but his fingers followed her instructions and soon Hermione was left speechless. She cried out as his fingers found her, and as they dipped below the barrier of her knickers, she writhed in sheer pleasure. His fingers were warm and soft and strong and touching her and it was… it was…

Hermione moaned and then it was difficult to draw breath and she gasped for air and her stomach muscles clenched and an old feeling that felt entirely new overcame her before she collapsed, completely spent, on the bed.

"Did you just?" Ron asked, his fingers still just lightly touching her. Hermione lay still, her eyes closed, her breathing attempting to return to normal. "But, I didn't even… Did you really just—"

"Oh shut up," she interrupted, but her voice was much weaker than normal.

"But you did? You really did?" Ron asked and Hermione opened her eyes, gazing up at him shyly. She bit her lip and nodded. "Seriously?"

"Yes Ron, seriously! Is it so difficult to imagine my… my…"

"Your what, Hermione?" Ron asked and Hermione knew he was just being a cheeky git. She grit her teeth and stared up at him.

"My getting off while you touched me."

"Oh fuck, Hermione," Ron muttered, burying his face in her neck and kissing her wetly. "No, I've imagined it plenty, I've just never actually thought I'd get to see it. You're incredible."

"Isn't that what I'm supposed to say?" Hermione asked, turning and nuzzling into him.

"Only if it's true," he muttered in reply, seeking her lips. She kissed him slowly and tenderly.

"It's true, Ron," she whispered when she broke from his mouth. "That was unbelievable." He chuckled into her skin and wrapped his arms around her.

"I think our hour may be up," he said, and there was a trace of sadness and longing in his tone.

"I don't want it to be," she pouted, even as the flashes of her family and Ron's, the responsibilities that faced them, and the hard work all flew before her eyes. She glanced up at him and found his eyes wetter than before. "Oh, Ron," she murmured, reaching up and kissing him on his cheek. "I'm so sorry."

"Me too," he said gruffly. "But…"

"We'll heal from this, Ron," she added for him when she knew he wasn't able to. "We all will, we'll help each other." Ron nodded and clutched her to him.

"C'mon, let's get going." Ron drew back the curtain and they were faced with a staring Harry and Ginny. Harry was looking slightly awkward and dropped his gaze immediately. Ginny looked devilishly smug.

"Never heard of a Silencing Charm, eh you two?" she asked, crossing her arms as she regarded the pair. Hermione's jaw dropped open and she turned to hide her face in her pillow.

_Oh Merlin! I was so loud!_

Ron laughed and Hermione was brought out of her embarrassment at the sound. The old Ron would have huffed, embarrassed and angry, and fought with his sister and best mate, lashing out at them in his discomfort. Hermione stared up at him.

"If you didn't want to hear it, I believe you know the charm as well?" Ron returned smugly. Ginny made a face.

"Yeah, we do, and it's a damn good thing Harry cast it before we got to hear anymore. End well, did it?"

Ron grinned down at Hermione, who was still horrified and attempting to hide behind him and in the bedding. "Yeah, it did. You two ready to get up?" Harry nodded mutely and Ginny smirked but shook her head in bemusement as she hopped out of bed. The bedding dropped from Harry's hand and Hermione heard Ron let out a low whistle.

"Harry, what the hell it that?" he asked, and Hermione peeked from around Ron to see what he was talking about. She gasped when she saw. A bruise the size of a bowling ball, and roughly the same color, sat ugly and shining on Harry's chest.

"Harry!" Hermione shouted, crawling from around Ron and scrambling to her feet as she crossed the room.

"It's nothing, Hermione," Harry muttered in his traditional way, attempting to brush her off.

"It's not nothing," Ginny argued, looking towards Hermione. "I was afraid to try anything with it last night, it looks like it was from a serious curse." Hermione nodded.

"It was," Ron added softly, keeping his eyes on Harry. "Pomfrey should look at it, mate."

"No," said Harry firmly. "She has enough to do."

"Haven't you done enough, Harry?" Hermione asked, her tone gentle. "Can't you let us take care of you now? We'll fetch her here, you wouldn't have to see anyone else." Harry looked torn and his eyes flit to Ginny, she nodded in agreement. That seemed to settle him and he nodded, keeping his eyes to the floor.

"Thank you Harry," Ginny murmured as she placed a small kiss at his temple. Hermione saw the ghost of a smile flit across his face.

"I'll do it, but I have one condition."

"Anything," Hermione answered in earnest.

"Hermione, would you please put on some trousers?" Harry smirked up at her and Hermione felt her face go completely red. She turned immediately for the loo, where she had left her bag, both Weasley's laughter ringing in her wake.

A/N: Happy fourth to my fellow Americans! Happy third chapter to the rest of you! Cheers!

Thanks for all the great reviews and the excellent suggestions for upcoming chapters! I love it! Keep them coming!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Harry awoke with a start as a loud "Bloody hell!" tore through the room. He felt confused and disoriented but mercifully rested as he blinked and took in his blurry surroundings. He heard muffled laughter and indignant retorts and then he understood: Ron and Hermione.

But he could have sworn it was a female voice that swore. Harry shook his head in bemusement.

He glanced down at his chest where a particularly pretty redhead was still dozing. Though slightly dusty from the battle, her hair still emanated that delicious flowery smell that he had always associated with his Ginny.

_His Ginny…_

She was his Ginny again and he was her Harry; it was like that now, wasn't it? He supposed he should say the words, tell her how much she meant to him, tell her she was the reason that he came back to this world at all. But that would mean telling her the whole, big, gruesome story, and though Harry knew he owed her that, the thought exhausted him once more. He sank back into the pillows, raising his hand to stroke her hair.

_Merlin, it's so soft._

"Not if you keep stopping before all the good parts!" It was Hermione's voice that hissed and Harry felt his brow furrow in confusion.

_What are they on about?_

"And which are the good parts, Hermione? Here?" Ron's voice followed, and it was soft and gentle and Harry started to feel very uncomfortable. He suddenly understood just what they were talking about and as he heard Hermione bite out a moan, his left arm shot out, scrambling for a wand, any wand.

"What? What's wrong?" Ginny's sleepy and yet suddenly anxious voice rumbled out, her head shooting up from Harry's chest as her eyes roved his face for any sign of injury.

"Nothing's wrong," Harry whispered, not keen for Ron and Hermione to realize Harry could hear them. "I just need my wand."

"Why, what's—" But Ginny broke off and her face twisted in disgust.

"A bit lower," came Hermione's choked voice and as she cried out Harry and Ginny both scrambled to find wands, Harry succeeding first even without his glasses, and silencing the bed next to theirs.

"They weren't seriously…" Ginny trailed off, looking to Harry in horror. He nodded.

"Yeah, I think they were," he mumbled, feeling a blush work its' way up his neck. Ginny laughed, muffling the sound in Harry's chest.

"I can't believe them," she choked out. "With us right here? If it weren't my brother over there I'd suggested we give them a run for their money!"

"Oh yeah?" Harry asked, shifting from Ginny as he felt a stirring in his pajama bottoms.

"Yeah, but a snogging war doesn't seem the best way to stay on his good side," Ginny continued, smirking up at Harry.

"Since when do you care about being on his good side?" Harry asked, smiling down at Ginny with affection.

"Since he suggested I come here to you, since he didn't yank me out of this bed," Ginny answered, lowering her eyes.

"He did that?" Harry asked, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude towards Ron, because really who else could he possibly need more than Ginny right now?

"Yeah, he did. And I don't know what kicked him over this whole protective brother shite and I don't know how long it will last, but I'm not going to be the one to stop it, you know?" Ginny asked, looking back up at Harry, her eyes fierce, her gaze unwavering.

"So, you'll be around then?" Harry asked, swallowing with difficulty as he regarded her. She looked confused. "I mean, with me… you'll be around with me."

A look of comprehension dawned in her eyes and she pressed a light kiss to his lips.

"I'm here, just as I always have been, for just as long as you need me," she said, her lips lingering close to his.

"I'm not sure if you mean that," Harry choked out, feeling slightly overcome with emotion and gratitude. "It could be quite a long time."

"Let's get this straight Potter," Ginny said with firmer conviction. "I'm in love with you, have been for years, and I'm not leaving. I'm going to take care of you, help you, and just be with you for as long as you can stand to have me around."

Harry felt tears well in his eyes and was not embarrassed when a few fell to his cheeks. Ginny's hand came and gently wiped them away. "I love you too," he rasped, realizing as he said it that he had never told anyone that before.

"Well good," Ginny replied, eyeing him lovingly. "That'll help some."

It was an hour later that Harry had eaten some breakfast, found some clothes to put on, and was now tying the laces of his trainers when a tired sounding knock startled him.

He blinked before sitting back more firmly on his bed, gripping his wand in his hand out of habit. The door pushed open slowly and Madam Pomfrey peeked in.

"Mr. Potter?"

"Come in, please," Harry answered, standing up to greet the matron. She bustled in, though her stance seemed more stooped and weary than Harry remembered it being. "Thanks so much for coming."

Pomfrey regarded him with a warm smile, pushing more fully into the room with Ginny trailing at her heel. "It's not as though Miss Weasley would have allowed otherwise," she told Harry in a bemused tone. "Though I was coming to check on you regardless. I'm sorry it took so long, there was just so much else…"

Harry winced slightly as she trailed off. He felt the losses keenly, still feeling the weight of responsibility as it settled on his shoulders.

_I could have given myself up sooner! I had to in the end anyway; it wouldn't have mattered. It _didn't_ matter that I waited. Fred would have lived, Colin, Lupin, Tonks…_

Harry hung his head slightly, regarding his dirty trainers. He felt Ginny shift to his side and grasp his hand. He squeezed her fingers gently.

"Well, never mind all that," the matron's voice broke through and Harry shook his head before glancing back up. "Miss Weasley says you have a rather large bruise on your chest that she was afraid to heal herself. Come, let's have a look."

Harry frowned as he sat on the bed, lifting his shirt over his head. He had never confided in Madam Pomfrey fully, always too afraid that, as her student, he would be reprimanded for his actions. But he wasn't her student now.

Madam Pomfrey's brow furrowed as she stepped closer. "Is this a normal bruise, Mr. Potter, or Dark Magic?"

"It, it was Dark Magic," Harry admitted hesitantly. A thrill of fear coursed up his spine. He wanted to tell her, tell her how he was a Horcrux, how he was pretty sure it was gone now, how he had died, but was it safe? Was it all right to confide such dangerous details to anyone other than Ron and Hermione? Harry needed to be sure no one would ever know how Voldemort had come to be so successful, why it had been so hard to kill him. There would be no copycats to Voldemort's insanity, not if Harry could help it.

Madam Pomfrey regarded him shrewdly before waving her wand over his chest. Harry watched as a silvery light emanated from its' tip but felt nothing and the bruise didn't recede.

"What's wrong with it?" Ginny asked, anxiety creeping into her tone.

"I can't place what curse caused this," the matron answered, not taking her eyes off Harry's chest. Harry swallowed nervously and his fingers sought Ginny's hand once more.

"It was the Killing Curse," he answered and his felt Ginny's fingers spasm around his. Pomfrey looked up at him, her brows rising in surprise. "It was Voldemort, he used Avada Kevadra. He killed me for a little while, I think."

Ginny and Madam Pomfrey glued their eyes to Harry's face and he swallowed nervously before his eyes sought his trainers once more. Ginny's fingers never left his and for that, he felt extremely grateful.

"Perhaps you better start somewhere closer to the middle of this story, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey suggested in a hushed tone. Harry nodded.

"I… I will," he started, looking to Ginny for some strength. She tensed and straightened her back.

"I don't want to leave, Harry," she whispered, a threat and a plead mingled in her tone. "I want to stay with you."

"I want you to as well," he reassured her immediately, understanding her defensive tone. "But listen, Ginny, Madam Pomfrey, what I'm going to tell you, no one else can ever know. I mean that seriously, not anyone. It's… well, it's very dangerous information. Are you sure you want to know?"

Ginny nodded immediately but Harry noticed Pomfrey regarding him. "It's about how Voldemort came back, how he stayed alive all these years despite all attempts to kill him, isn't it?"

Harry nodded and watched her.

"There's been so much speculation. Not out in the open, not for years, but the magical community of Healers has been pondering it for some time.

"How exactly does one come back to his body? How to cheat death year after year, curse after curse. There are ways, yes there are: potions and elixirs. The Sorcerer's Stone, we all knew the significance of that, and the unicorns that had died, but there are also ancient spells, rituals. There are ways. Horcruxes, for instance."

Harry nodded, never taking his eyes off his matron.

"It was you," she whispered, her eyes roving once more over the bruise. "But then, there had to be more, at least one before he went to your parents home that night."

"There were, a number of them, s—"

"I do not wish to know how many," Pomfrey interrupted him, holding up her hands, fear showing itself for the first time in her eyes. "I'm an older woman, Harry. What he is, was, it's too much for me. I heal people and in doing so wonder, naturally, about Death and his coming. But I do not care to delve too deeply into how to thwart Death so unnaturally. When it is my time, I'll go willingly, because that is how it is intended."

Harry nodded, relieved at last that his secret would be safe in her hands. He knew Ginny was watching the exchange, completely confused and trying to catch up. He would tell her all the details later, now he just wanted to tell Madam Pomfrey what she needed to know so he could get to work, helping to restore the castle and bury the dead.

"What else do you need to know?" he asked.

"You want to be sure it's gone, I'm sure. And you want to be sure you're whole and healing?"

Harry nodded again.

"Then just tell me this, after you were cursed, what happened?"

Harry recounted the entire tale, leaving no detail out. He told them how his last thought had been Ginny's lips pressed to his; how he woke up naked, whole, dry, and clean after his seemingly never-ending day; how Dumbledore had spoke to him; and he described the ugly, twisted thing that writhed in agony on the floor. He knew now what that was and he still felt a tremor of disgust course through him as he thought about how he had carried it with him for so long. He couldn't even look at Ginny's face, not wanting to see the revulsion there, not wanting her to connect the pieces that every time they had been together, it had really been both him and Riddle that had kissed her, held her. He felt a constant dripping of uncertainty that told him maybe she wouldn't want to stay with him after this.

"And when you came back," Pomfrey nudged gently. "It stayed?"

"I think so," Harry answered, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Dumbledore said it had been killed, that I was free of it. He said I couldn't help it any longer and when I left I… well I got up and walked, it didn't."

"Just so, it needed you. The curse had to kill something. You were whole; it was weak. It stayed."

Harry felt a swooping relief.

He was gone, really and truly gone. Harry was whole. He free hand reached for his scar, there was no tingle, no pain.

"I'm afraid only time will heal this though, no magic. It will disappear on its' own, though it may take a while," Madam Pomfrey went back to examining his chest, waving her wand over it carefully as she spoke and muttering under her breath. Harry couldn't care less. He was lighter than air, happy and whole.

_Let the wretched thing heal on its' own, who gave a damn!_

"Thanks Madam Pomfrey," he said in earnest, pulling his shirt back over his head as she finished.

"No matter," she responded, stepping back. "I should get back." She paused as she turned for the door and regarded Ginny. Harry inhaled slowly and then turned to do the same. Ginny kept her eyes down, one hand still wrapped with Harry's and the other twisting uselessly in her lap.

"And you, Miss Weasley, are you alright?"

"I…" Ginny voice sounded lost, broken, and Harry's heart beat uncomfortably fast beneath his bruise. "Yes, Madam Pomfrey," she finally managed, looking up with a weak smile. "I'm fine. Thank you."

The matron nodded before she made for the door, allowing it to swing back into place after her departure with a soft thud.

Silence surrounded them, thick and repressive. Harry held Ginny's fingers tightly, using both hands to secure his hold on her. Doubts over how he had told Ginny about his last moments in the forest swam in his vision through cloudy eyes.

_I should have warned her, braced her, told her alone so she could question and yell, hit me if she so chose._

But it was too late now; the worst and most terrible of all his secrets were laid out, resting in the open air like a contagious disease, waiting to consume his relationship with Ginny.

"He was inside you? All that time?" Her voice rang out in the silence, though it was soft and quiet. It was barely her voice it was so full of hesitancy. Harry nodded, not even sure if Ginny could see because he couldn't find the strength to bring his eyes to hers. "Did you know?"

"Not until the end. Not until I was walking to him in the forest."

"You knew he would kill you, and you let him?"

"I… Ginny, it was the only way," Harry protested the anger in her voice. "I had to die for him to die. Ron, Hermione, they could have finished it that way. Voldemort would be killed. And I made sure Neville knew about the snake—"

"There was a piece of him in the snake?" Ginny interrupted, her eyes flashing.

"Yes, there was and six other pieces, besides Nagini and… and—"

"And you."

"Yeah."

Harry felt sick, contaminated, even though he knew Voldemort was finally gone from him. He could hear the anger and frustration in Ginny's voice. But he needed her to know this, to understand why he did all those things, why he left her last year.

"Were they all… living?" she asked and there was uncertainty in her voice that gave Harry some hope.

"No, none of the others were. He didn't even mean for me to be one, he was just so unstable by that point…"

Ginny held up her free hand and Harry stopped. She had never dropped her grip from his hand and for that Harry was extremely grateful. He chanced a glance at her from the side of his vision. Her head was bent and her lip was pulled through her teeth. Her eyes were clenched shut and she would sporadically squeeze Harry's fingers tighter.

A very long moment passed while Harry said nothing; he sat, and waited, and occasionally watched. And it was in one of the minutes that he was studying his trainers, noting internally the specks of blood coloring one white tip, that Ginny spoke again.

"That's what you were doing this whole time with Ron and Hermione? Finding his pieces and killing them?"

"Some were already found," Harry answered. "Dumbledore destroyed one, I destroyed another and then Ron, Hermione, and I searched and found three others, leaving the snake, myself, and him."

"Was the diary one?"

"Yes," he replied, surprised she was able to make such a leap. He had never considered it, not once when Dumbledore was explaining all of this to him last year, and he was astounded Ginny had put that together.

"And you were going to him, to let him kill you, and you didn't say goodbye to me?"

"Ginny, I…" His voice was weak, raspy as he fought to defend himself, but he trailed off in a whisper, not knowing just what to say.

"I would have wanted that, Harry. I would have wanted a chance to say goodbye, one last kiss… I would have told you that I loved you. I regretted it, all last year, not ever telling you. I would have told you, I would have liked the choice."

Her voice was soft and it wavered near the end. Harry knelt in front of her, not sure what to say but sure that he wanted to look at her as he said it. Tears were brimming in her eyes and she looked away from him, using her free hand to brush them from her cheeks. Her lips were trembling and her shoulders sagged. She looked broken.

"I didn't think I would go through with it," he started, the words coming from an unknown source, "not if I was looking right at the person I would miss the most. You were my last thought, you—" But Harry broke off as a sob threatened and dipped his head, resting his brow gently on her knee.

He felt her fingers finally slip from his and knew the rejection he had known all along was coming must be just moments away. His freed hand dropped to the floor.

But then he felt fingers thread through his hair, felt her hands come to rest on either side of his cheeks, felt the pressure from her palms tilt his face to hers. "Never, never do that to me again, Harry Potter."

His heart soared right out of his chest as her meaning sunk in. His eyes flashed to her face and he leapt up, lifting Ginny and tackling her to the bed as he pressed his lips to hers.

"You're not leaving me?" he asked in a breathless rush as his lips left hers and he pressed kisses all over her face, branding her cheeks, nose, eyes, and forehead as his own.

"I told you I wouldn't," she whispered, her hands running the length of his back, holding him to her. She nudged his chin with her nose, seeking attention from his lips and he complied, kissing her fully. She opened herself to him, stroking his tongue with hers and not shifting away as he pressed the full length of his body to hers.

Harry's hands felt fevered and frantic and they searched Ginny, clinging to her and stroking and generally confirming that this was real. Every stroke of fingertip over skin proved her presence to him, every whimper and groan that issued from her as his hands grazed sensitive areas strengthened his belief that she wasn't leaving. He knew now what it meant to be dead and what it meant to be living and in that moment, he realized he had never felt more alive.

"I love you, you crazy girl," he whispered into her hair, shifting to the side of her as one hand rest on her cheek. He pressed his lips to her ear, kissing and nipping and wishing that there were nothing to do all day except this, holding and touching and exploring.

"I love you too and why are you stopping?" Ginny panted as Harry nuzzled into her. Harry laughed and rolled unto his back, intending to take a deep breath so he could tell her they needed to go check on everyone else, needed to get to work. But Ginny didn't allow him his breath, she followed him as he rolled, climbing on top of him and leaning down, kissing him once more.

Her hair fell like a curtain surrounding him and when Harry opened his eyes it felt as though the whole world had disappeared, leaving just he and Ginny in its' wake. Her mouth was warm and soft and willing, fierce as she kissed him and gentle as he kissed her back. Her hands caressed his chest, sides, jaw line, whatever she could reach, and as she sat back on him, straddling his hips, her center caressed him in the most intimate way possible.

"Merlin, Ginny," Harry gasped out, letting his head drop to the bed as he squirmed beneath her. His hands dropped from her sides and he struggled to regain control. Ginny didn't stop, she leant further into him, nibbling her way up his neck and sliding against him in a way that left very little to the imagination. Harry was dangerously close to loosing all control and he felt his traitorous body respond forcefully to her advances.

They had never, not once, done anything even close to resembling this in those few short weeks they had been together. Harry had never wanted to push her, but Ginny didn't appear shy or hesitant in the least.

_But still… this isn't the time…_

Harry groaned as Ginny returned to his mouth, sliding her tongue along his and whimpering as his hand reached up to trace the outline of her bum.

_She just lost her brother… she just found out I was harboring Voldemort's soul… it isn't the time!_

But Harry could feel her bottom as it pushed into his hand; feel her straining, rubbing, and sliding along his erection. Her hair smelled of flowers and her breasts were pressed against his chest. In a flash he remember her undressing before him just the night before, remembered how she looked as she bent to pulled her pajama bottoms up, how she had to tug them over the lower curve of her arse…

His hand squeezed without his brain telling it to do so and Ginny moaned into his mouth. Her hands reached for the lower hem of his shirt and she tugged.

"Gin, wait," Harry gasped out, reaching with both hands to still her hips as they slid over him.

"Why?" she asked and her tone was breathless and rushed, though Harry thought he could detect a trace of a whine. He laughed.

"We can't do this here, not now," he said, pulling her face up so he could look at her. She pouted as she regarded him but he held firm. Her face softened after a moment.

"I guess I know that," she offered, a slight grimace pursing her lips. She slid to his side and tucked under his arm. He squeezed her to him. "I just wanted a bit of an escape, I suppose. I didn't want to think about…"

"I know, Ginny, I'm sorry."

"We should get down there, shouldn't we?" she asked after a moment, looking up at Harry. He nodded.

"Probably." She stretched up to kiss him before turning and hopping off the bed and holding out her hand. Harry smiled gently as he took it, letting her lead the way.

A/N: Okay, I'll admit, I got a little lazy with this one. I didn't edit it at all like I normally do, just a quick read-through over something I wrote over a year ago. So yeah, I know, probably some grammar problems, timeline inconsistencies, that kind of rubbish, right? Ah well, at least it's up. I'm having so much trouble concentrating with this story…

But the reviews have been so kind and wonderful so I'm hoping you'll overlook my laziness. I'll do better for the next one, I promise!

Cheers!

Ozma333


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Ron kicked at the rubble around his feet, noticing the gleam of mahogany through the settled dust. He bent to retrieve the wand, not even sure if its' owner would have any use for it.

_But someone might…_

Ron pocketed the twelve-inch stick of wood after wiping it on his robes and raised his eyes. The castle was in better shape that he would have dreamed to hope. But that didn't mean it resembled the Hogwarts he knew and loved.

The gaping holes that were torn into the exterior by stray curses and giant's fists were gone, sealed clumsily and patched in obvious ways, but still gone. The suits of armor and desks that McGonagall had enchanted had all been replaced, standing idly as though they had never been moved. Ron kicked his way through the hall, reaching back and grasping Hermione's hand in his as he stumbled over the debris.

As they walked, they set to rights the parts of the castle that the house elves had missed. With a single flick of her wand, Hermione straightened and repaired a dozen paintings, the inhabitants calling out their thanks as they passed. Ron set a torn piece of cloak to dusting with a spell his mum had taught him early on and the dust began to scatter.

"We should—"

"Not yet," Ron interrupted, refusing to look back at Hermione. He was sure she would be frowning, but he was also sure he wasn't ready to face his family yet. It was easier to walk around, fixing the castle and watching the evidence of everyone else's misfortunes. Some of the bloodstains had yet to be removed from the stone floors and walls and Hermione fell silent as she concentrated on cleaning one particularly large blot. The splattering reached high up the walls and Hermione stretched so her wand tip could reach the length of it.

Ron was turned, watching her, and he sighed.

_Even cleaning bloodstains she's effing gorgeous. _

"What?" Hermione asked, turning from the now clean wall and regarding Ron carefully.

"Just… you," he answered, moving closer.

"Me?"

And for no reason at all, she looked suddenly breathless. Her chest was rising and falling more rapidly than moments before. Her hand twitched and then she backed into the wall. Ron followed.

"Ron, we should… we should—"

"We will," Ron answered, leaning into her and pressing his forehead to hers. He exhaled slowly and she shivered. Ron felt a smile curl his lips and he reached forward, placing his hands on the wall on either side of Hermione, effectively containing her.

_She's so small._

Ron felt as though he towered over her and it amazed him that this slight, little thing who was trembling before him was the fierce, strong woman he had known her to be all these years. Hermione's eyes refused to meet his though Ron leant back to rake his gaze over her. She was shifting and fidgeting, as though she wanted to reach out and grab something and not for the first time he wondered just how much his presence affected her.

_Was it always like this? Had I just never noticed?_

Ron thought back on all those shared, private duties they completed as prefects, all those moments when it had been just he and her and nobody else. Was she just as easily distracted then? Did she fidget and refuse to meet his eyes? He couldn't rightly remember, mostly because it had always been _he_ who avoided looking at _her_. She had intimidated him then. He felt always terrified of her rejection, the one he was so absolutely sure would be delivered if he ever pushed for anything more than the basest of friendships. But he was looking now, he was looking and noticing and loving everything he saw.

She wanted him. She was unsure and nervous and wary, but she did want him, want them. If he were to kiss her just now, she would respond. Ron chuckled at his revelation and she started, raising her eyes to his chest.

"What?" she asked, and her voice was soft and shy.

"Was it always this way?" he asked, his voice just as soft. He bent his head and nuzzled into her neck, breathing in deeply. She groaned as his lips pressed to her shoulder and he chuckled again, remembering her reaction just this morning to his repetitive chuckling.

He had never dreamed she would be bold enough to ask him to do that, to touch her there. Well, that wasn't entirely honest. He had dreamed it, often in fact. But he never thought it would become his reality. But she had and he did and it was…

_Indescribable._

He wasn't so sure at first about what exactly he should do. Things with Lavender had become bumbling and frantic at times and he may have grazed more sensitive areas without meaning to, but he had never taken it that far. He had never wanted to. So with Hermione he was careful and slow, gentle.

And it had undone her.

Ron groaned into her neck and pulled her to him as he remembered. Hermione settled into him as though it were entirely natural, tucking her face against his chest and sighing. "Was it always what way, Ron?" she mumbled, the vibration of her voice rumbling through his chest.

"This way," he answered and he knew it was vague. He let his hand drift from her hip to her bum and he squeezed. Hermione released a breathy whimper and moved along him, sliding over him as though she wasn't sure if she should move away or snuggle closer. Ron bent lower and caught her lips with his, kissing her with a mind to make her forget that she would ever have any inclination of leaving. He stepped forward, pushing her to the wall and letting his hands slide over her, her arse, legs, waist, and hips. He moved his fingers into her hair and angled her mouth to his, felt his stomach flip when her tongue caressed his, felt his breathing hitch when she moaned into him.

His fingers found the clasp to her jeans, found it and began toying with it. She shivered as he did so. Feeling bolder than he had ever felt before, he popped it open and tugged on the zip. Hermione was shaking now, but she wasn't stopping him, she was still pressing against him, sliding up his body as she reached for more. He broke from her mouth to trail kisses down her body, dropping to his knees on the floor.

Hermione sighed and leant back, supporting herself along the length of the cold, stone wall. Her hands rest on his shoulders, one set of fingers began playing at the nape of his neck with his overly long hair. Ron kissed her belly, trailing his mouth lower and lower. He reached for her open zip and tugged the opening wider. She started and he looked up to see her breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her eyes squeezed shut, but she was still not stopping him.

His hands still gripping her hips tightly, he kissed the waistband of her knickers and then caught it in his teeth and dragged lower. Her breathing hitched.

BANG!

Ron tugged Hermione to the ground and covered her with his body as the loud noise ripped through the still morning air. Dust rained down in the mouth of the corridor to their left and tremors shook the floor.

"What the hell was that?" Ron shouted, his ears ringing slightly from the blast.

"Repairs or increasing damages," Hermione answered, peeking from under Ron's arm to assess the situation. "Either way, reason for us to get out of here."

Ron nodded, still not moving from her as memories, far less pleasant ones, assaulted him. Crashes and bangs and parts of the castle collapsing and burying him, burying them, in debris. Percy's screams… Fred…

Ron grit his teeth and looked back to Hermione, grabbing her hand and standing them both up. She pulled him into her arms.

"I'm sorry, Ron."

He nodded into her, their frantic pace of just moments before gone. He pulled her close and squeezed his eyes shut tight against the tears that had formed there.

"And yes, it was always like that," Hermione continued softly, stroking his back. "It was always you Ron, always."

That did it.

Ron buried his face into her as he cried and she held him all the tighter, stroking his back and whispering reassurances.

"'M sorry, Hermione," he whispered when he found his voice once more. She shook her head and gripped his face, pressing her lips to his cheek.

"Don't be sorry," she murmured, watching him once more. "I want to be here for you." He nodded, pulling away to wipe his face. He noticed her turning slightly to fix her jeans, tugging the zip up and re-fastening the clasp.

"I'm sorry about that, too," he added as he turned, nodding to her waist. "I was… caught up?" he winced as he finished, not sure what exactly the excuse should be for pressing your girlfriend into a crumbling castle wall and proceeding to undo her trousers. She hadn't stopped him, but shouldn't he be more gentlemanly than that? They'd kissed what? Three times now? And here he was diving into her pants at every chance he got. Hermione deserved better than that.

"I could have stopped you," Hermione answered, her voice low as she turned from him. Ron saw a blush stain the back of her neck.

"Still…" he mumbled, following Hermione as she started down a rubble-free corridor. He felt like an arse, an arse who couldn't seem to stop crying. He grit his teeth and watched his feet move, one in front of the other. His trainers were dusty and dirty still, rusty-brown stains that were most likely someone's blood spattered on the side of one. His hand gripped his wand tighter, twisting it slowly in his fist.

_It wasn't supposed to be like this…_

He was supposed to be happy, free. He was supposed to celebrating. He was supposed to be with his family, his whole family.

Hermione reached back and grasped his hand. Ron felt tears sting his lashes again.

_Why am I pushing this with her?_

He had always imagined that when he and Hermione got together it would be slow. They would kiss a few times, maybe snog a bit, some innocent touching, and then he would ease off until she pushed for more. And though she had, technically, asked him for more; it was in the aftermath of one of the most horrific, stressful, soul-wrenching day and didn't mean he should have taken advantage of her like that. In the light of a new, yet still awful, day, he realized he really should have been more respectful, should have gone more slowly, should have given her time. This wasn't something he needed to rush; this was something to savor, something he wanted to last for a long, long time.

"Hermione—" Ron started, intending to apologize once more.

"Ron!"

They turned, Hermione wrenching her hand from his as her fingers flew to her wand. Charlie was rushing down the corridor, gesturing at them.

"Thank Merlin," he said, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "Thought I'd have to drag you both out of the dormitories. Didn't want to have to…" he trailed off as he waved his hand, a faltering grin tugging at his lips.

"Sorry, Charlie," Ron mumbled, feeling his ears burn just slightly as he realized what his older brother was insinuating. Especially since his insinuations were completely accurate as Hermione did indeed spend the night, partially clothed, in his bed.

"Not what I meant, Ron, just," Charlie paused, his eyes now on the floor, "it's Mum. She needs us now."

"Why? What happened?" Ron asked, instantly panicked as months of pent-up worry over his family boiled right to the surface.

"Nothing, well, nothing new…"

_Fred. _

Ron closed his eyes and let out a breath. Of course it was Fred, of course his mum needed him. He knew that. She needed all of her family right now, all that was left. Ron felt his eyes burn again and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Let's go," Ron said, grabbing Hermione's hand once more and leading the way down the corridor. Charlie stopped him as he turned for the Great Hall, redirecting him to a first-floor classroom.

"They moved the… erm," he paused again and ran a hand through his hair. "Mum and Dad are in here."

Ron swallowed and nodded as he turned to the open classroom door. It was the classroom Dumbledore had enchanted for Firenze. It seemed so long ago.

The setting remained forest-like, still and quiet with a moss covered floor, shrubbery, and greens. But hanging amidst the branches were the black hangings that Ron had seen once, at the end of fourth-year, when Cedric Diggory had been killed. Under each hanging, a stone pedestal was erected. A still body lay on most. Ron frowned.

_There were more, last night…_

Ron knew there had been at least fifty. Fifty bodies whose souls had been claimed in the battle.

"People have been leaving throughout the day," Charlie said softly, gripping Ron's shoulder tightly. "Burying their family on their own."

"Haven't they… I mean, isn't anyone doing anything for the, the…" Hermione couldn't seem to find the words to express herself, but Ron thought he knew what she was trying to say. Where were the speeches? The memorials? Didn't these men and women, the many who gave their lives, deserve that much? He felt a wave of anger pass through him.

"McGonagall tried," Charlie said. "She offered a memorial, the graveyard here, a mass funeral. But I think most people just wanted to go home. In a few weeks maybe, when, well when things have settled a bit, I suppose." Charlie frowned and left it at that. He kicked at a loose leaf on the mossy ground and then looked up to Ron.

Ron felt Hermione's fingers tighten around his and he took a deep breath before shuffling his feet forward. He had spotted his mum, spotted Fred, and he fought a wave of nausea as he made his way to the back of the room.

_Mum looks worse than Ginny._

Molly Weasley was paler than Ron had ever seen her. Despite his insistence last night, it didn't look as though she had had any sleep. She was staring at Fred—

_Fred's body._

—as though she could will him back to life. Arthur was gripping her by both shoulders and Ron thought he might actually be holding her up. The distress so evident on his face looked mixed, in part for the loss of his son and in part worry for his wife and the remainder of his family. As Ron drew closer he saw George. He had a chair conjured at the foot of the stone slab Fred rested on. He was perched on the edge of the chair, his forehead resting by Fred's feet. Ron couldn't see his face.

"Ron, should I…" Hermione trailed off in question, pulling her hand from his.

"No," he croaked, tightening his fingers around hers as he turned back. "Stay. Please?" Hermione nodded and followed him as he turned.

He came across Bill and Fleur first, both who hugged him and pat him on the back. Fleur whispered something in French, he thought she meant to say "We're very proud of you," but he wasn't entirely sure. Percy pulled his red-rimmed eyes to his and nodded shakily. Ron offered his hand and Percy shook it, tears spilling. Harry and Ginny stood behind Ron's parents and each offered a nod and a shaky smile. Ron paused behind George, resting his hands on his shoulders. George tensed but didn't turn and Ron understood. He squeezed tightly before turning to his parents.

"Mum," he whispered and Molly blinked before looking up, seeming to see him for the first time.

"Oh, Ron," she cried, pulling him into her embrace. She squeezed hard and long and Ron let her, holding her just as tightly.

"Hi Mum," he said, bending to rest his forehead on her shoulder. "You haven't slept."

"I…" his mum faltered, squeezing him one last time before letting go. Her hand came to her eyes and there was a slight tremble as she wiped the moisture away. He sighed as he moved to hug his father, watching from the corner of his eye as his mum held fast to Hermione. Ginny came up behind her mum and placed her head on her shoulder. Molly reached up to stroke her hair and let go of Hermione, though she kept her close as she substituted both girls for the physical support her husband had been offering.

"We need to get home, Dad," Ron whispered, not taking his eyes off his mum.

"We will, son," Arthur answered, the exhaustion evident in his tone. "George and I decided the funeral will be tomorrow, we just wanted the whole family here before we… before we moved…"

"Okay Dad," Ron interceded softly, placing his hand on his father's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'm here now." Arthur nodded, letting his head drop.

It was a tense, long thirty minutes before the Weasley family finally apparated from Hogwarts. Molly had cried more than Ron had ever seen and it took Bill and Arthur together to apparate her home. But it all got so much worse when they finally got to the back garden of the Burrow.

Or what had once been the Burrow.

It lay in ruins. One wall was completely torn away, leaving the rooms exposed to the elements; it's remnants strewn over the garden. Every window had been smashed out, glass glittered, scattered on the floors and littering the ground. Parts of the surrounding landscape had old scorch marks; the door had been ripped from the doorframe; the worn, ancient furniture that had been collected in the Burrow for ages was broken and toppled.

And the Weasley's stood as they took in their home. It wasn't long until Molly dropped to her knees, sobbing gently. Ron knew he should feel angered, but all he could muster was a dull exhaustion.

It wasn't enough that he hadn't seen his childhood home for months. It wasn't enough that he had scars, inside and out, that might never heal. It wasn't enough that his brother had been killed. His home, the only home he'd ever known, torn down, abused, ripped apart.

He heard Ginny take a deep breath and he turned, expecting to have to prop her up. But her wand was extended and she took a step forward. Hermione released Ron's hand and followed, drawing her own wand. Ron blinked.

Ginny's was the first spell cast. With one swish of her wand, all the windows on the first floor clinked back together and in place. Hermione's followed, the southern wall teetering as she attempted to replace it. Her lip was bit, her expression focused, and for a moment Ron thought numbly that the wall would fall again. But then another wand trained on the burnt wood and plaster and with a loud _thunk_, it fit back into place.

"Thanks George," Hermione whispered and Ron turned in time to see his brother shrug before making his way around the back of the house with his hands now stuffed in his pockets. Molly stopped crying long enough to lift her head and watch her children. And Ron finally felt a jolt of energy. He pulled his wand, glanced at Harry, nodded, and joined Hermione and Ginny as the family started to stir towards their home.

A/N Okay, so the last one was a bit unedited… I figured I throw this one up early to make up for it. I'm not saying the editing is any better in this chapter, but, well, what the heck? Two for the price of one, I guess. I particularly enjoyed this chapter, especially the end. Hope you enjoyed!

Cheers!

Oh, and last week for suggestions about Hermione and Ron for chapter seven… (I think it's seven…) So far I've got Yule Ball, Lavender, and multiple requests for Malfoy Manor. Anything else, throw at me now! Thanks!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"Hermione? You awake?"

It had been three days since the Burrow had been restored, two days since they had buried Fred, but Ginny still couldn't sleep at night. She had thought Hermione was having similar troubles, all she heard all night long the past few nights were Hermione's sheets rustling, her body flipping over, and a couple of huffed breaths.

"I can't sleep," came Hermione's disgruntled voice. Her camp bed creaked as she rolled over and let out a loud sigh. Ginny propped herself up on her elbows, peering into the darkness. She could vaguely make-out Hermione's outline as she lay on her side, facing Ginny's bed. She fell back to her pillow with a huff.

"I hate this," Ginny muttered, punching her pillow. "I've never had this much trouble falling asleep. Not even at Aunt Muriel's…" Ginny joked weakly as she shuddered to herself, remembering not only the terror and the uncertainty of being in hiding, but also the incessant snoring that came from the room next to hers. "Aunt Muriel made more noise in her sleep than she did when awake."

Hermione chuckled weakly at Ginny's attempt at humor.

"Hermione?" Ginny asked, after a moment.

"Hmm?"

"You alright?" Ginny asked because she knew Hermione would answer, and not with the typical 'I'm fine' or 'Sure, it's ok' that everyone else in her family was spewing these days. When Ginny had asked Harry that the other day he had blinked and smiled far too brightly before responding. Ron merely grunted and nodded. George shrugged. Ginny needed an honest answer.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Not really."

"You're not sleeping much at night either, I can hear you," Ginny prompted in the silence after Hermione's admission.

"Nightmares." It was a simple response, uttered so softly that Ginny almost missed it. She swallowed as she processed what Hermione said.

Ginny had nightmares too: torture sessions in the Hogwarts dungeons, hiding from the Carrows, ducking curses in the halls. Then more recently: Harry, hanging limply in Hagrid's arms. Harry, eyes wide yet unseeing. George, Percy, Bill, Ron, her mum…

Fred.

Ginny choked back a sob and wiped a hand over her eyes.

_Were Hermione's nightmares the same? Were Harry's or Ron's?_

"What about?" Ginny asked into the darkness, almost cursing at herself for her heartless exclamation. She knew, obviously, what everyone's nightmares were about. She just wanted the clarification, the feeling of knowing she was not alone in her irrational fears. After all, Voldemort was dead. Bellatrix Lestrange was dead. The Death Eaters were all but rounded up. There really was nothing left to fear. But in the darkness of the night, when all she could hear were Hermione's restless turnings, Ginny was still afraid.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Ginny muttered. "I mean, obviously, I know—"

"Did Harry tell you?"

"Tell me what?" Ginny asked, wrinkling her brow in confusion. She and Harry had done much talking and she thought he had told her just about everything that he had gone through the past year. Ginny clenched her eyes shut remembering. The awful locket, breaking into the Ministry, riding a blinded dragon; most of it was just horrible. How could Ron leave them? Ginny still felt angry about that, though Harry and Hermione seemed to have forgiven him. And the corpse of Bathilda Bagshot, with the snake…

"About… about Malfoy Manor," Hermione murmured.

Ginny cleared her throat and took a breath before answering. That was one area Harry refused to elaborate for her. His exact words were: "That night was not about me, it's not mine to share."

"Umm, no, he didn't," Ginny offered, propping herself up and watching Hermione's outline.

"That's what I have nightmares about," Hermione whispered. "They change sometimes, Harry, Ron, you… I hate seeing that, night after night—" she broke off and Ginny thought she could hear a choked sob.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" Ginny asked into the sudden silence. She wasn't sure Hermione would respond, wasn't sure she wanted to talk about it, but she wasn't wholly surprised when Hermione turned over to face her.

"We were captured and taken there. Bellatrix was there and Draco. I had hit Harry in the face with a swelling charm so they wouldn't recognize him, but there was no disguising myself or Ron." Hermione's voice was dead and flat, as though this were a rehearsed speech with no emotions involved. Ginny grit her teeth at the change in her friend. It wasn't so long ago that she'd be waxing poetic about Ron, simultaneously insisting that she felt nothing for him while griping that he was sending her mixed signals.

"They found the sword of Gryffindor," she continued in a metered pace, breathing evenly as she did so. "And they wanted to know where we got it from, because the cup Horcrux was in the Lestrange family vault and so was the sword and they thought we broke in somehow."

"Which you later did," Ginny supplied in the pause. Hermione stopped shifting and fidgeting and Ginny imagined a small smile gracing her lips.

"Right, which we later did," she said with a hint of amusement in her tone. "So, they… Bellatrix, she kept me and ordered Ron and Harry into the cellar. I guess it was a prison of sorts. I'm not too clear on what happened down there. I know Dobby got them out with Luna and Mr. Olivander and Dean. But I stayed upstairs."

The pause and the silence were heavy this time. Ginny could hear Hermione taking deep, even breaths, could feel the anger and revulsion that coursed through her friend.

_What had they done to her?_

Ginny shivered slightly, even though her bed was warm and comforting. She heard Hermione clear her throat.

"Greyback was there too, he was the one to bring us there. Bellatrix tortured me, the Cruciatus, over and over. I lost count how many times. And Greyback stood there, licking his lips and staring and—" Hermione broke off and Ginny recognized her friend for the first time since she started talking when she sobbed.

"Hermione—"

"No, it's alright Ginny," she choked out, pausing Ginny as she tossed the covers back with the intention of going to Hermione. "I should finish. It's just, I've not told anyone this. Harry and Ron, well, they knew really and I've not talked about it."

"Okay," Ginny hesitated, tucking her feet back under her blankets as she hugged her knees. "I'll just listen then."

"I heard Ron, the whole time he was screaming and I heard him. I tried to focus on that but it was almost as terrifying. It was as though he knew he wouldn't ever see me again. And Greyback was towering over me and Bellatrix was hissing promises to hand me over to him and I knew what he wanted. And I don't think it was just to kill me, he was staring and I was screaming and…" Hermione stopped and her breathing relaxed, her tone became rigid and hard again and if Ginny could see her, she knew she'd see a mask Hermione had created for talking about this.

"I had to lie, tell them the sword was a fake. She called for Griphook, who confirmed I was telling the truth, and Bellatrix relaxed. She made a motion for Greyback to take me but before he could the chandelier fell right on me. I blacked out. When I woke up, I was in Ron's arms at Shell Cottage."

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," Ginny offered softly into the pregnant pause. She had no idea how to comfort her, how to offer support. "Your nightmares must be awful."

"They are," she whispered. "But it's worse when I dream she was torturing people I love. Sometimes I see my parents or Ron or you and I wake sweating and panting. I know then that it's okay I was tortured, because at least it was me and not anyone else."

"Still doesn't make it okay that you were tortured," Ginny corrected gently.

"No, I suppose it doesn't," she agreed, her voice uncharacteristically timid. "But it's easier to tell myself that."

"Have you—" Ginny broke off, knowing exactly what she wanted to ask but unsure of how exactly to ask it. "Has there been a night when you don't have nightmares? What makes them go away?"

Hermione cleared her throat in a stalling motion and Ginny thought she knew the answer.

"When Ron's there, right?" Ginny pressed, sitting up again and looking back to Hermione. "You sleep when Ron's with you?"

"Ginny," Hermione said in protest and Ginny knew she was blushing.

"That's the only night I've sleep through, the night I was with Harry. I didn't dream at all that night, just slept. It was blissful," Ginny said, her eyes closing as she remembered the feeling of falling asleep wrapped in his arms. She sighed. "I could do that every night."

Hermione laughed. "You've been saying that since third year!"

"And it's still true," Ginny retorted. "Please, deny it if you can, you'd rather be in Ron's bed right now!"

"Ginny!"

"Well?"

"Fine, yes, I'd rather be with Ron!" she huffed, before continuing in a softer voice. "I used to take naps, right after. We slept in separate rooms at Shell Cottage and I tossed and turned all night. But every afternoon while Harry went on walks, Ron would insist I take a nap and he'd sit with me, hold my hand or rub my feet, and when I slept then I didn't dream, just slept."

Ginny smiled. "That's sweet, even if it is Ron."

"He really is rather sweet, isn't he?" Hermione continued, her voice far away. Ginny snorted.

"Don't ask me, I'm just the sister. I still think he's an arse."

Hermione chuckled. "No you don't. And how would you like it if I called Harry an arse?"

"A year ago I would have agreed with you," Ginny laughed. "But now, now… You know Hermione, I always said he was the only one for me. I was right. He's it. He's such a mess, but he's it."

"Ginny, that's—" Hermione sentimental tone broke off as soft footfalls were heard outside the room. "Who's that?" she asked, her voice instantly infused with caution. Ginny paused to listen.

"That's Harry," she answered with certainty.

"How do you know?"

"Ron doesn't wear socks to bed," Ginny chortled. "I can hear the difference."

"Are you going to—"

"Of course I am," Ginny answered, already out from under the covers and searching for her other slipper. "And so should you. He's alone right now, up there, in his bed, and probably not asleep."

"Ron? Please," she huffed. "He could sleep through anything."

"So wake him, crawl into bed with him. He wouldn't mind."

_Where in the hell did that slipper go?_

"And then?"

"And then?" Ginny sat back down and stared in Hermione's direction. "After what I heard the morning after the battle, I don't think you need an education in the _and then_ department!"

"No, I—" Hermione broke off and Ginny heard her sit up. "I seem entirely too willing for that department. I think I need to slow up a bit, but I don't seem to have control of my mind when I'm with him!" Ginny screwed up her face, pinched the bridge of her nose, and tried to push the fact that this was her brother they were talking about out of her mind.

"You don't have to shag him every time Hermione, just—"

"I have not! We haven't—" Hermione huffed and threw something. Ginny cried out as her lost slipper hit her on the forehead before grinning.

"Thanks, I was looking for that."

"I haven't had sex with him, Ginny!" Hermione pressed.

"Well, near enough sounds like." Ginny shrugged. "So don't have sex then, just sleep. Tell him that's what you want before anything happens."

"I suppose…" Hermione's musing was broken off by a soft knock on the door. Ginny sprang up and cracked the door before flinging it wide.

"Ron?"

"Hey Gin, sorry, look I…" Ron scratched the back of his neck before peering around her. "Is Hermione awake?"

"Hi Ron," came Hermione's nervous voice.

"Hey." Ginny started at how tender and soft her brother's voice had gone as he took in Hermione. She cleared her throat.

"Right, well, I'm going to see Harry. Ron you better get in here before Mum sees you," Ginny said, pulling her dressing gown closed as she shuffled past Ron.

"Erm, thanks Gin." Ron said, his voice low. "Harry's downstairs."

"Right, okay Ron, thanks." Ginny paused to shut her door softly before turning for the stairs. She paused outside her door and sat on the stairs, steeling herself.

_Harry's down there. _

And part of Ginny wanted to run to him, fling herself at him and take everything he had to offer. And the other half reminded her forcefully with every breath that the funerals were not yet over, that Fred was only just put in the ground, that George was also probably not sleeping in the room he used to share with his twin. She put her head in her hands and felt tears leak between her fingers.

_It's just not fair._

"I can't sleep, Hermione. I always sleep."

"Can I help?"

Ron and Hermione's muffled conversation became clearer as Ginny's sobs subsided. She shoved her hand in her pocket to silence them but found she had forgotten her wand.

_Stupid!_

But it didn't really matter anymore, did it? Couldn't she have one wand-free night without panicking?

"I don't want to push you, just… Can I just sleep near you? Maybe next to you?"

"Of course."

Ginny heard some covers rustle and she hoped for their sake as well as her mum's, that whatever they were doing, they'd do it quietly.

_Should have offered him my bed._

Ginny blinked and then nearly laughed at the thought. Ron wasn't lying anywhere but next to Hermione. And suddenly, Ginny knew exactly what she wanted, what she needed. She needed to forget. Forget that everyone had died. Forget that her mother was still crying every time she cooked any of the meals. Forget how every night when she fell asleep her family and friends danced dead across her closed eyelids.

She had tried once before, pressing herself against Harry and grinding over him. She had wanted him to sweep reason from her mind, she needed that moment to forget the rest of the world and just be assured that they were both alive. Ginny's feet took her to the living room before she remembered telling them to move.

Harry sat on the sofa, his head hung and his elbows resting on his knees. The plaid pajama bottoms he wore were old and faded, as was the gray shirt that hung from his shoulders. Weeks from now, when life had settled back into its' normal course, she would have to take him shopping. His cousin's old clothing really did nothing for him.

Except, he did look quite adorable in his over-sized pajamas. Ginny cocked her head and grinned as she leant into the wall and crossed her arms.

"Sickle for your thoughts, Potter?"

Her voice sounded deeper than she thought it should and she offered a nervous grin when Harry's head shot up. His right hand shot out in a spasm, his fingers twitching uselessly on the worn sofa cushions.

"Hey Gin," he said, pulling his hand back into his lap and grinning. "Come sit?"

Ginny smiled and crossed the room, sitting close enough to Harry to feel his warmth. "I couldn't sleep," she offered when he looked her way. He nodded before putting his head in his hands.

"Me neither," Harry whispered. "But mostly because Ron keeps turning in his sleep and muttering about Hermione. I had to get out of there so he could pretend I wouldn't know that he's sneaking to her room."

"My room, you mean," Ginny chuckled. "And yeah, we heard you come down here, I was on my way when he knocked."

"You were on your way here, yeah?" Harry turned and looked at her, amusement lighting his eyes.

"Yeah," Ginny replied, knocking his knee with hers, a challenge in her tone. "Want to make it worth it?"

Harry's eyebrows rose past his fringe as he regarded her. "Excuse me?"

Ginny rolled her eyes as she swallowed the lump in her throat. She knew Harry was shy, hesitant even, in the pursuit of a more physical relationship. She had often wondered, when they had dated those few precious weeks, just what she'd have to do to get him to push things a little farther. And just now, she wished she had the guts to simply pounce on him and press against him, tear at those old pajamas until they fell away from his body. Ginny closed her eyes and inhaled slowly as the memory of his broken and bruised but gloriously naked body assaulted her. That one glimpse of him had haunted her during each and every shower she had taken since.

Ginny shook her head to clear the image from her mind. "Nothing," she murmured, not quite ready to push him just yet. "Just, can't sleep."

Harry turned to look at her with such intensity that she blushed and ducked her head. She saw his mouth open as though he was going to say something but then his lips closed slowly and his brow wrinkled. Ginny closed her eyes and exhaled.

_What am I thinking, what's wrong with me?_

Fingers, soft and warm, traced the outline of her face and she shuddered, turning her face towards him. Her eyes opened with just enough time to see him leaning closer, his lips parted slightly, his breath warm against her mouth.

Harry kissed her. And Ginny was astounded with the amount of enthusiasm with which she responded. Her lips opened instantly, her hands threaded through his hair. He groaned as she attacked him, leaning forward to capture more of her and Ginny twisted around to accommodate him. But it wasn't enough. He wasn't close enough. She wanted to feel more of him than just his lips and, without breaking their kiss, she threw a leg over his lap, climbed over him and pressed her full body against his as he leant back into the sofa.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" Harry murmured as he pulled back, his hand resting lightly on her neck. Ginny nodded, transfixed in his stare. "I don't want to take advantage."

"You won't," she choked out, horrified at the sudden tears that formed in her eyes. "I'm the one taking advantage, I'm sorry Harry."

"Ginny, don't," he soothed, kissing her nose as his free hand stroked through her hair. "You're not taking advantage. You have no idea how much I want you, but I can wait."

"But I can't! And I don't know if it's for the right reasons but I know I need to feel something else right now. I need to get lost, forget, and I'm sorry that I'm asking you to do that with me because I know it's not right—"

"Shush love, relax," Harry murmured, tugging her into his chest and placing a kiss in her hair. "It's okay to want to forget and it's okay to take some time, find some distraction—"

"Even if that distraction is snogging you senseless?" Ginny sniffed.

"Especially if that's the distraction," Harry chuckled. "You know I wouldn't think any less of you. There've been plenty of times I've escaped to thoughts of you, most of sixth year in fact."

Ginny chuckled weakly into his chest. She felt his hands rub soothingly up her back before he lifted the hair hanging around her face and gently placed it behind her shoulder. Ginny felt her eyes drift shut as his lips found her neck and a jolt shot through her when he sucked gently.

"Let me distract you?" he asked in a whisper against her skin and she felt her head nod before she met him for a kiss. It started slow and soft, their paces even and matched but it wasn't long before Ginny felt out of breath.

Harry's hands caressed her carefully, tracing her outlines as though she could break, but they were also bolder than ever before. He didn't stop now when he would have normally. He let his fingers drag over her bum, squeezing and feeling. He let his hands trace the fullness of her breasts before cupping both. His tongue darted in and out of her mouth and he would occasionally drift to her neck or earlobe, biting and nipping and teasing.

And it was all at such a slow, tender pace that Ginny didn't in any way feel rushed or confused or taken advantage of; she felt loved and cherished and, Merlin help her, painfully aroused.

Ginny whimpered when Harry's hand slipped under her top so his fingers could press into the bare skin of her back. She arched her back into his touch, pressing her hips to his as she did and she sighing when she felt his erection rubbing against her.

Harry released a strangled groan and pulled her closer, kissing her harder than before. "Is this okay?" he asked against her lips, his voice strained. Ginny nodded before kissing him again. She reached for the hem of her shirt and lifted it over her head, fully aware that she was not wearing anything underneath. Harry's movements stilled as he watched her, his eyes drifting lower.

Ginny felt the chill of the night settle over her and she shivered. Harry's eyes darted back to hers for an instant before they returned to her chest. In one fluid movement he pulled her closer and covered one breast with his mouth. Ginny cried out and Harry broke away, a warning warring with amusement in his eyes.

"Your parents," he whispered, raising an eyebrow at her. Ginny felt a blush rising and went to cover herself but Harry's hands got there first.

"I don't think so," he teased, batting her hands away. "But don't be so loud."

"Silence the room then," Ginny admonished, but the threat was weak in her tone as she whimpered again. Harry's fingers were pressing and teasing and yet felt nowhere near as good as his mouth.

"Can't, left my wand," he said, his voice muffled as he was now kissing between her breasts. Ginny groaned.

"Since when do you leave your wand?" His tongue was now trailing the underside of her left breast, his fingers dragging over her right.

"New thing I'm trying," he answered as he looked up at her, his fringe falling across his eyes. "Think you can keep it down?"

"So long as you don't," she murmured, rubbing along his erection once more.

"Saucy wench," he chuckled hoarsely, lifting her and dropping her on the sofa cushions. Ginny muffled her squeal by biting her lip, gasping as she felt Harry's mouth cover her breast once more. His tongue flicked her nipple and he sucked her flesh hard and she groaned.

"Merlin, Harry," she muttered, pressing her chest more firmly into his mouth. He chuckled against her skin and she felt a rush of cold air as he released her nipple.

"You wanted a release, yeah?" he murmured, coming back up to kiss her soundly before he let her respond.

"You're doing just fine," she answered, surprised at how low and husky her voice had become.

"I can do better." And with one hand still on her breast…

_Had it even left yet?_

…Harry began kissing down her chest and to her stomach. He looked up to eye her before his fingers twitched to the band of her pajamas, one eyebrow quirked up in question. Ginny's breath was uneven and she clamped her eyes shut, but not before nodding at Harry.

She felt her bottoms being tugged lower, felt Harry pull at the waistband of her knickers, felt the night air wash over her and peeked to see Harry's heated gaze as he saw her for the first time. But she couldn't watch him for long because then Harry's head dipped, her stomach muscles clenched and she cried out as he pressed a kiss to her center.

Harry broke away from her, his breath warming her as he let his lips drift over the jumping pulse point where her leg met her hip. "Sorry," Ginny whispered.

"S'okay," Harry said, chuckling slightly. His eyes turned toward the stairs and then back to her. "I'm going to try that again." Ginny swallowed and gripped the cushions, focusing on staying quiet.

Harry tugged her clothing to her knees, let his fingers ghost up her sides until one breast was warmed once more by his touch and then pressed his mouth against her. Ginny whimpered lightly and tossed her head to the side, pressing her face into a pillow as Harry's tongue darted out against her nub.

"Merlin, Harry," she hissed, fisting her hands and clenching her teeth. And then he broke all restraint, he pushed her legs open wider, pressing his mouth against her, inside her and Ginny felt things she didn't know existed. Her breathing accelerated, her pulse was leaping, and it was all she could do to keep from crying out, from shouting until the entire house woke up.

His fingers were playing with her nipple, pulling at it and dragging against it until jolts of pleasure sprang from her chest to her core. His other hand joined his mouth and soon she felt a single finger trace her opening.

"Yes, Harry," she mumbled, arching her back and threading her fingers in his hair. "Please."

His finger pushed into her slowly and she bit her lip, thrilled at the friction this simple action created. Harry's mouth and tongue prodded and sucked at her and it wasn't long before the swirling, massing ache in Ginny's lower belly began to throb.

"Harry, Merlin, I think I'm going to… I'm…"

His tongue darted out and flicked, his lips closed and sucked and he added a finger as Ginny's hips pushed into him. She felt her muscles spasm as Harry's fingers pushed in and out of her, as he licked and nipped. She clenched her eyes shut and let go as a powerful wave of release consumed her.

She couldn't help the groans and gasps that she released as he prompted her first ever orgasm, couldn't help the way her hips still moved against his fingers, even now when her body was relaxing from its' high. Ginny was trembling from the aftershock of it all and whimpered when Harry pulled his fingers from her, concentrating on steadying her breathing even as he kissed his way back up her body.

"That was amazing," Harry whispered as he lay over her, kissing her lightly on the lips. Ginny grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him fully, pushing her tongue into his mouth and tasting herself there. She broke from his mouth to nibble his neck, sucking and biting as she struggled to find words.

"Thank you," was all she could think of and she hugged him tightly to her. Harry chuckled into her shoulder and held her. And Ginny knew she could stop it there, give him a kiss goodnight and head back to her room, but the thought of being alone just then scared her and she placed her lips to his neck instead.

"Ginny, we can stop, just lay here…" Harry trailed off in a groan as Ginny nipped at him.

"Shut up Harry," she whispered, suddenly not so sure that she wanted to continue only because she wanted the company. She wanted to make him felt what she felt, wanted him to feel as loved as she did right at that moment.

Her hands drifted down his body and traced the outline of his hips. Harry sucked in a breath as he buried his face in her neck.

"Think you can keep quiet?" she asked, brushing her lips over his ear.

"I think I can manage," he offered, his voice rougher than moments before.

"S'not as easy as you think," Ginny teased, grinning as she let her fingers trace over his erection. He released a low hiss into her shoulder as he placed sloppy kisses. She let her fingertips drift over him, running his length before gripping lightly.

"Oh fuck." His chest rumbled and he pressed more firmly into her hand. He cried out when she stroked him, muffling his voice in her shoulder. His hand reached up and gripped her breast as his mouth sought hers. His breath was uneven and hurried, he gasped into their kiss as Ginny stroked him over his bottoms.

"Want to feel you," she murmured against his lips but he made no motion to move, only kissed her deeper. Ginny nipped at his bottom lip as her fingers fumbled at the fly of his pajama bottoms. He shifted his hips, laying down on the couch as Ginny hovered over him and her fingers found the opening and then it was so warm, warm and hard and strained and so responsive to even the slightest of touches. Ginny bit her lip and hovered over him, stroking. Her lips found his and his kisses were jumbled and frantic, breaking off and then searching for her again and it took hardly any time at all before he tensed, crying out as he did.

She snuggled into him. Her bare chest pressed to his shirt, and his fingers drawing lazy patterns over the skin of her lower back.

"Thank you, Harry," she murmured, her lips moving over the soft cotton of his shirt. He squeezed her to him.

"Will you be able to sleep?" he asked, his voice soft and unsure.

"I think so." She propped herself up and rest her chin on his chest. "Better things to dream about now." He chuckled.

"I'm always here, Gin," he said. "Whenever you need—"

"But not just for this," she corrected, wanting to be clear. "I don't just want you as a distraction."

"I know," he murmured, but the way he caught her eye made her think he needed the reassurance just as much as she.

"And speaking of, you know, you being around and all," Ginny continued, keeping her tone light as she snuggled into his chest, "we should tell my Mum and Dad."

"We?" Harry teased, raising his head to look at her. "Shouldn't that be your job?"

"Traditionally, I would think it would be yours," Ginny teased back, pinching his side. He didn't even squirm away and when he answered his voice was low and thoughtful.

"Not until I ask for your hand," he said, and involuntarily, Ginny tensed. "Which granted, might not be too far away but—"

"Harry!" she bit out, internally debating whether she should jump away or snuggle closer. Eventually the fear of looking him in the eye and finding out just how serious he was won out and she kept her head buried into his warm chest. "You can't just say things like that. That's… it's—"

"Too soon?" he asked, interrupting her stammering. "Don't tell me it's because you're too young. I thought Ginny Weasley was up for anything." His tone teased but the way his hand was still drifting over the small of her back, tracing those same mind-numbing patterns, made her think he was all too serious. And suddenly, she felt the urge to see him, to look him right in those damn green eyes of his and ascertain the truth for herself.

_He's not lying. _

The green shone back at her, dark and smoky in the dim light, but it rang with honesty. Honesty and a tinge of uncertainty, as though maybe she would tell him to piss off, that he was nothing more than a fling, and infatuation, a celebrity fill.

_How could he ever worry about that?_

"My life has been… well, you know what it's been. I've told you everything now, everything I can think of. All I want now is for things to settle. Maybe find a place of my own, maybe with Ron. Get a job, someday get married and yeah, maybe even kids. All that doesn't have to be now though. Hell," he laughed, breaking his gaze from hers for the first time and letting his head fall back to the couch's armrest, "I think I'd settle for being able to walk down the main street in Hogsmeade right about now, maybe grab a butterbeer."

"That sounds nice," she murmured, meaning all of it, the house, the kids, marriage. Harry offered a weak grin.

"All I've ever wanted; if I was given a second shot, a chance at a normal life; all I've ever wanted was you, Ginny."

Her breath caught in her throat and she felt the uncharacteristic prick of tears in the corners of her eyes.

"Since I was a little girl…" she whispered, trailing off, but knowing he understood. His kissed her softly, whispering against her lips.

"Someday."

A/N So I'm not posting chapter seven with this one, not yet. It'll be really soon though. It's mostly because I'm nervous. I've never been this far ahead of myself before. Chapter Eight is barely written! The pressure's on! Hope you enjoyed though… Cheers!


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"Hey," Ron's voice rang out, causing Hermione to lick her lips in anticipation. He shuffled into his sister's bedroom and tripped, cursing under his breath as he stubbed his toe on the corner of Ginny's bed.

"Hey."

Ron paused, shifting from foot to foot and Hermione tugged her eyes off him and stared at her rumpled duvet.

_It shouldn't be awkward. It really shouldn't be._

But it was. Hermione felt her stomach flutter with nerves and she swallowed heavily in attempt to still them.

_How many times have you dreamed of this? Of him coming to you in the middle of the night, needing you? _

And why should it be awkward? She had held him at the funeral, comforted him at his worst, and he had let her. For the first time he was letting her in and she should feel nothing but thrilled.

But it was tainted. Tainted by the funerals, the news of the surrendering Death Eaters, the impending trials, the tears that Molly shed at every meal as she passed that one empty chair, by the weight that George seemed to be shedding at an unhealthy rate. Harry was subdued, Ron grit his teeth in anger when he thought she wasn't watching, Ginny whimpered in her sleep (when she managed to sleep at all). She didn't even know if her parents were alive. It was all still so wrong.

And amidst it all, Hermione couldn't seem to control herself when Ron was too near. He was sitting next to her at meals and in the living room, hands brushing her thighs, faltering grins sent in her direction. And each time a heat in her belly flared, her throat went dry, and her palms itched. She wanted to grab him, snog him senseless, press him into the nearest corner and just pray no one came along to find them.

It was so much worse than it had been last year. She had always felt drawn to him, fantasizing what it would be like to kiss him, thread her fingers through his brilliant hair. When he had argued with her, even when he sometimes said the cruelest things, his flushed face and flashing eyes had always featured later in her private dreams. But she was able to tamp it down, shake her head and remind herself that snogging Ron was not an option, or even when she felt it might be that it wasn't a priority.

But there was really nothing holding them back now. He told her he loved her and she said the words back.

_But still…_

It still just didn't feel completely right; it wasn't how she imagined it would be.

"I can't sleep, Hermione. I always sleep."

"Can I help?" She felt the words roll off her tongue before her brain registered what he was saying. He seemed to notice her unease because he quirked his head, eyeing her intently.

"I don't want to push you, just… Can I just sleep near you? Maybe next to you?" he asked, his voice shy and soft.

"Of course."

Hermione swallowed and shifted over on her bed. There wasn't much room but they had already done this once in the Hogwarts dormitories and there had been much less space then. Ron padded over and slid under her covers, laying on his back and sighing as he reached for her hand. She felt his fingers twine with hers and she squeezed, releasing a breath as she did.

_It's okay. You're okay._

Ron sighed, tilting his head towards her until their temples touched. Hermione smiled into the darkness and tightened her hold of his fingers.

"I really meant that, you know," he whispered, exhaling softly. "I don't want to push you."

"I know," Hermione answered, clearing her throat softly. "It's not you I'm worried about."

"What are you worried about?"

Hermione swallowed against the sudden dryness of her throat. Ron was lying still just next to her, the only points of their bodies touching was his hand still clasp within hers and their temples. He was so still, so patient, and Hermione huffed before she whispered her answer.

"Me."

He turned his face towards her and she glanced in his direction briefly before directing her gaze back to the ceiling.

"It's me, alright," she clarified. "And my inability to control myself," she added through grit teeth. Ron laughed softly, his breath floating gently over her face.

"That's my fault," he said after a moment, turning to face her and folding one arm under his head as he watched her. Hermione offered a small grin but kept her eyes directed upward. "It is and I'm sorry," he added, his tone soft and serious now.

"It's not—"

"No really," he interrupted, freeing his hand to use one finger to tilt her face towards him before grasping her fingers again. "It's funny too because—" his gentle smile faltered and he dropped his gaze to their linked hands.

"Why is it funny?" she whispered.

"I just never thought it would be this way, you know?" he answered, keeping his eyes on their tangled fingers. Hermione felt her face slacken as her heart leapt to her throat and she swallowed against the pressure.

_He doesn't want this._

"No Hermione, wait," he chuckled, leaning forward to kiss her nose. "I'm not ditching you or anything." Hermione blinked and tried re-arranged her features, exhaling slowly.

"Sorry," she whispered, turning her face more fully towards him. He grinned.

"S'okay. I just meant, when I'd thought about us being together, visualized it, I always thought I'd take more time. You know, maybe a few kisses, longer hugs, holding hands," he grinned briefly and picked their entwined hands up before letting them drop back on the bed.

"That's my fault," Hermione whispered, feeling shame well from her toes up to her chest.

"No it's not," he laughed, though it was harsh sounding and short lived. "I've pushed, each time I've push you too far and I'm sorry. Not that I didn't think, I mean hope, it would get there someday. I just always thought I'd be more of a gentleman than that."

"And I wouldn't be such a scarlet woman?" Hermione whispered. Ron snorted through a genuine laugh.

"Scarlet woman!"

"Your words, not mine," Hermione muttered.

"Tell you what," Ron said, and his tone suggested he was amused. "If this were our first night together, as a couple, what would you be expecting? How would you act?"

Hermione blushed and bit her lip.

"For instance," Ron continued, a grin threatening to split his face. "If this were our first night, I'd want to kiss you. I would kiss you slowly and take my time, just exploring you and loving the fact that I finally get to do that. I'd stop before anything went too far but before I did, I'd want to take a closer look at those three freckles behind your left ear. I don't know if you know how many times those have caught my eye during class. You really are very distracting."

Hermione felt her free hand flutter up to her left ear and trace the freckles Ron described. Her skin felt flushed and heated from his declarations and the stirring low in her stomach fluttered to life.

"What about you, Hermione?" he asked, his lips lingering over her heated cheek before they pressed lightly. She smiled as she turned on her side towards him.

"I'd want to talk," she admitted, pressing her fingers to his lips to silence him when his eyes rolled. "I'd want to tell you all the things I'd never been able to tell you before."

An understanding crossed Ron's features and he smiled softly. "Such as?"

"You were a right prat at the Yule Ball!" Hermione declared in a fervent whisper, her brow wrinkling as she frowned at Ron. He let out a soft bark of laughter before pressing his lips together and nodding.

"True, but you've told me that already," he argued, poking Hermione in the stomach. She squirmed and fixed her sight on him once more.

"When I asked you to Slughorn's, I meant as my date."

His smile slipped into a grimace at her soft whisper. "I guess I should have known that," he mumbled. "I wasn't sure and I'm sorry."

"I hated seeing you with Lavender, but I hated hearing every encounter recalled later in the dormitories for mine and Parvati's benefit even more." Hermione continued, staring at Ron as his face lost color.

"She… she _talked_ about that?" he asked in a whisper.

"Every night."

"Oh." His eyes dropped to the bed and he cleared his throat. "Hermione, I—"

But she wasn't ready to hear him yet. There were things, so many things, that she had held in for years and she relished in the fact that she could say them now without fear. Because no matter what she said or dragged up in this private little moment they had created, he wouldn't leave her for it. And it was immensely relieving to realize that.

"You left me." It was all she said, soft and pained, but Ron knew exactly what she was talking about. His brow knit and his eyebrows drew together and his jaw muscles clenched, though whether he was trying to keep from crying, yelling, or just plain hurt Hermione couldn't tell.

"I know," he bit out, swallowing hard. "I'm so—"

"I forgive you," she interrupted softly, placing one finger on his open lips. "I forgave you so long ago. But it hurt. Please don't do that ever again." The anxiety melted from his features and he was the eleven-year-old boy she fell in love with all those years ago. He nodded.

"I could hear you at Malfoy Manor." Ron blanched again.

"I've never been so terrified," he whispered, his fingers clutching hers tightly. "I… it was—"

"I know," she murmured, leaning towards him until her forehead rest against his, she could feel his breath, hot and ragged, against her lips. "I know."

She saw his eyes close and he bit his lip. She knew what he was seeing.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For saving me, for taking care of me, for refusing to leave me after even while Fleur undressed me."

Ron's eyes shot open. "She told you about that! She promised me!" Hermione laughed lightly and poked him.

"Quiet, Ron! Your mother." He clamped his mouth shut but still looked chagrined as he muttered threats to his sister-in-law under his breath.

"I'll tell you a secret," Hermione offered. Ron's eyes shot to hers and she held his gaze. "I'm glad you stayed. I would have wanted you to."

Ron blinked and then his face split into a smile, He leaned towards her again, his lips searching for hers.

"Hey," Hermione murmured, her hands shooting up to rest on his chest.

_His warm, solid chest…_

She held him back. "What?" he asked, his eyes slightly unfocused.

"Who said it was your turn?" Hermione whispered, teasing him as her lips hovered just over his. Ron narrowed his eyes at her, even as a grin threatened on his lips.

"You mean, you're not done yet?" he whispered. "Merlin, am I dating a chatty bird!"

"At least you finally know I am a girl," Hermione teased, trailing her hands from his chest to his back before slipping them underneath his shirt.

"And so bossy!" Ron continued, chuckling as he nestled into her, dropping light kisses on her shoulder before his lips found her jumping pulse point. "Remember when we first met? So rude!"

"Who was?" Hermione asked, her voice a little breathless as Ron's fingertips traced the outline of her hip. "You or I?"

"You, obviously," Ron whispered into her ear before nipping at her earlobe. "Telling me I had dirt on my nose!"

"You did have dirt on your nose!"

"Hermione, shut up."

She did. And Ron finally got access to those three little freckles.

Sometime later, maybe it was officially morning at that point, Hermione couldn't be sure, Ginny shuffled in. Hermione awoke to an accidentally slammed door and eyes shinning in apology and she smiled. Ron's hand was still firmly gripped in hers as he snored softly, his body stretched out next to her bed on the floor, cushioned by the pillow Hermione had enlarged. Ginny raised an eyebrow and Hermione shrugged.

"You mind?" she mouthed. Ginny shook her head, smiling softly. Hermione nodded her thanks.

"Everything okay?" Ginny whispered. Hermione smiled in affirmation. It wasn't really an answer, but it would suffice, because in some ways, everything was wonderful and in other ways it was all still falling apart. But she knew what Ginny really meant: was everything okay between them, Ron and Hermione. And there, well there was nothing wrong there. They had kissed and explored and loved in all the most innocent ways. Neither had even taken off any clothes. And yet, despite the innocence of it all, it was the most wonderful night she had yet to share with Ron. Because love wasn't all flash and lust-driven madness, though sometimes there was that too, it was kindness and understanding, honesty and openness, patience, respect. It was what kept people together when sex could not, when couples got older and hair fell out and bellies grew bigger whether from children or rich food. It was sustaining.

And Ron and Hermione had finally had the chance to just be, without any interruptions, without fear that the other would leave or be offended or lash out. The apologies and playful banter had continued and it only heightened the physical feelings she had experienced. And there was humor too. Ron had burst out laughing when she had thanked him for burping slugs as she was nipping at his bottom lip. And she found herself only rolling her eyes at him when he joked that he should send Viktor a thank-you card for teaching her so well. He mock-glared when she suggested he not forget Cormac and then he had pounced on her and withheld his kisses until she admitted he was better than both and she had wished it was him from the start anyway. She relented quickly, and not only because what he was saying was the absolute truth.

The night had been magical but it was nothing; Hermione realized as she let her eyes drift shut, Ginny's covers rustling quietly as she slid into bed; compared to what the rest of their shared life could bring.

A/N Okay, impatient ones!

So, thank you for all your suggestions on this chapter. I think I got everything in, hope it satisfied! There's really not much left, I don't think… Maybe a chapter or two for each of the four? Maybe less? Really, this was only supposed to be a one-shot that got _way_ over expanded. So, it will start to wrap soon. Thanks for the support and the reviews! It's been a blast!

Cheers!

Ozma333


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

The light filtered through the dusty window of the uppermost room in the Burrow. It was strong and bright and clear and Harry squinted against it as he awoke with a stretch.

It was almost disconcerting how used he was getting to a good night's sleep. It hadn't happened in years. But now, now there were no bad dreams, no headaches, no worries constantly nagging away at him. He was a little restless, sure. Sharing a room with Ron would do that to anyone. But Harry had the uncomfortable suspicion that these days, he was sleeping even better than his best mate. A first if there ever was one.

It was just, well, after everything he had been through, all the deaths and sacrifices, possession, torture, being killed. All of that, it was over. Yes, there were still funerals (one of the worst excluding Fred that day in fact) but for once these deaths marked an ending, not another hurdle to overcome. Harry felt guilty for even thinking it, but it was true. Voldemort was gone now, gone because of him and Dumbledore and Snape and Ron and Hermione and Neville and even Ginny, in a way. He was gone to where he couldn't hurt anyone any longer. The price was steep, but it had already been paid. No more would be asked of any of the Weasleys, of Harry, of the rest of the wizarding world. Only to live with what had been taken from them. For some it would be harder. George, for example. Mrs. Weasley. Mrs. Tonks. Teddy.

And though guilt lingered, pricked at the edge of his mind, Harry knew, logically knew, that there really wasn't anymore of himself he could have offered. He did everything he could, more than he had ever thought himself capable of, and with honesty. He didn't even consider it bravery, as so many had said, written, made speeches about. It wasn't bravery. It was choice. He had choices and he chose what he could live with, or die with, as had been the case. Looking back now, with the gift of some perspective and time, it was hard to say if he would have changed anything. If he had known about the Hallows earlier, would he have failed as Dumbledore did? If he gave himself up earlier would he have told Neville about the snake? Would Nagini have been killed, or slinked off into the woods, keeping Voldemort alive once again? Timing and choice and variables, it was all so fragile; any wrong move could have tipped the scales.

And so, more and more often over the past few days, Harry had just felt grateful. Grateful that it was over, grateful that so many people he loved _had_ survived, grateful the wizarding world was being put back to rights. The part of his mind that twisted and taunted in grief and guilt was ebbing. Peace stole like a fog through his thoughts. It made for very nice dreams.

Well, that and Ginny.

BANG!

The door flung open, slamming into the wall. Harry jumped from his bed, reflexively reaching for his wand.

"Sorry, sorry!" Ron panted, collapsing on his bed. "'S just me."

"What the hell are you doing?" Harry asked, caught between an irritated grumble and a laugh. Ron looked ridiculous. His hair was all matted up on one side, his pajamas askew. He was rubbing his shoulder gingerly and he scowled at Harry.

"Mum! Bloody Mum!"

"What?" Harry frowned. Ron had been so careful to his Mum, nice even. He made her tea and let her cling to him, hugging her extra tight if he left the room for even a moment. He never said a thing about it, even seemed to welcome her embraces. "What happened?"

Ron's ears turned red though he faced Harry in defiance. His throat bobbed as he went to answer. "She, erm, she sort of walked in on me. In Hermione's room, I mean. Not that we were—" he cut off at Harry's laughter.

"Oi! We weren't! I was on the floor. Ginny was there! We were just holding hands!"

"Cute," Harry sniggered. Ron scowled.

"She wasn't too happy, anyway," Ron muttered, sitting heavily on his bed.

"Why? It was innocent, right?"

"I guess, yeah." Ron frowned.

"What'd she say?"

"Nothing actually, just sort of yelled. No wait, there was some muttering about taking advantage and whatnot. I dunno. I was half-asleep. Hermione's not too happy either though."

Harry nodded, not altogether surprised. He knew how he would have felt if Mrs. Weasley had walked in on him and Ginny. And Ron and Hermione had only been holding hands.

Harry felt blood flood his cheeks as he thought about last night with Ginny. He wasn't altogether sure what had possessed him. He knew she needed him, knew she needed to feel loved and taken care of, knew she needed a distraction, a few moments where every waking thought wasn't dominated by tainted memories and visions of graves. But he hadn't intended to take it that far. It was just that look in her eye, a silent plead, the way she clung to him. For the first time in his life, more than in classes, more than Quidditch, more even than chasing Deatheaters, he wanted to be really good at something. He wanted to be the best. It had never been a concern before. He would take tests, write essays, fly, and fight and there was a large part of him that thought maybe luck and fate and chance had more to do with his successes than he did. But not with this, with this he would excel, he would outshine all others; he would work to be the thing, the one person, who could drive her nightmares away.

Because he needed her; and he needed her to need him.

"What?" Ron asked, kicking the corner of Harry's bed. Harry started out of his stupor with a shake of his head.

"Hmm? Nothing," he muttered, rubbing his neck and avoiding Ron's eye. "So, what are you going to do about your Mum?"

Ron rolled his eyes and shrugged, collapsing on his bed and stretching out his legs. "She'll get over it."

"Have you told her? About you and Hermione I mean," Harry asked, wondering, not so much about Ron's relationship, but how he should handle his own. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley deserved to be told and as far as he knew, Ginny hadn't said a word. It was understandable, certainly. Every day had been dominated by wakes and funerals. And there had been that one afternoon with Kingsley to explain to him all that had happened. There really hadn't been the time. But now…

"No, I haven't. Hermione says I have to," Ron sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "She's right, I suppose. Makes it more complicated though."

"What does?"

"Telling Mum. See, Hermione has to go to Australia, she hasn't said much about it yet but I reckon she's just waiting a bit, you know, until all the—"

"Yeah, I know," Harry supplied when Ron faltered on the word funerals.

"Right, so I'm going with her. Not that I told her that, but she'd be daft if she thought I wasn't. And if I tell Mum Hermione and me are, well, what we are…"

"She'll pitch a fit about you going to Australia?"

"Exactly," Ron nodded, exhaling loudly.

"Honestly Ron, I think she'd pitch a fit regardless," Harry shrugged, climbing from his bed and grabbing his toothbrush. Ron's forehead scrunched in irritated consideration and Harry left him to contemplate as he made his way to the loo.

He was really small. It was the first thing Harry noticed. Later he would realize that the infant was sporting reddish hair that had shifted from a chestnut brown, his eyes were the exact shade of Remus's and his smile mimicked Tonk's knowing smirk, he could gurgle and coo and grin and Andromeda ensured him that these were all very new, very exciting, and admirable tasks to master. But really, all Harry kept thinking was how small Teddy Lupin really was.

Harry could have held him with one hand (not that he did of course, the thought was terrifying.) But Ginny didn't seem to have a problem doing so. She scooped him up as soon as Andromeda had offered him over, smiling and cooing back at him. Teddy had seemed happy, eyeing Ginny and her swinging red hair but then, all of a sudden and without warning, he had screamed. His face red and splotchy, his gummy mouth open wide, his eyes squinting shut, and Harry had jumped, looking to Ginny in alarm. But she had laughed and Andromeda just shook her head in bemusement. Ginny had shifted Teddy in her arms, laying him face down in the crook of her arm and rocking him one-handed, the other waving in the air as she continued her conversation with his grandmother.

Teddy stopped crying and a moment latter let out a loud burp.

Harry laughed. Ginny turned to look at him and rolled her eyes at his adolescent behavior, patting Teddy on the back as she did.

His godson. It still caught Harry unawares sometimes. Teddy Lupin was his godson, his responsibility, now more than ever. He would have to be there for him, teach him, be a sounding board for him when he's angry or frustrated or sad. He would tell him stories about his parents, making sure Teddy knows just how much they loved him, telling him, one day, just what his father told Harry that early morning in the Forbidden Forest.

_He died to make the world a better place…_

And Harry knew that even knowing all these things, it would never make up for actually having parents. Having a Mum to bake your birthday cakes (even if Harry could never imagine Tonks in a kitchen), having a father teach you how to ride your first broom, having parents to wave goodbye to you as the train whisked you off to your first year at Hogwarts. But, at the very least, Harry could be there.

_I will be there. Every step, every moment, every and any time he calls or needs me. I'll be there. _

And suddenly, Harry had visions, thoughts of what it could be like. Teddy and Harry taking in a professional Quidditch match, tossing around a Quaffle, trips to Wheezes and Gringotts (if he was ever allowed in there again), picnics and adventures and fun and, all in all, Harry was rather looking forward to it.

"You quite a natural," Andromeda was saying, her stance proud and tall and yet her eyes betraying her, rimmed in red. Ginny smiled.

"Part and parcel," she answered with a shrug. "One of seven." Andromeda nodded in understanding.

Harry regarded Ginny more closely. Her casual stance, her vibrant hair with strands lifting gently in the light breeze, her pale, shining skin that was only moderately dusted with freckles and shone in stark contrast to the dark robes she wore that were fitting for a funeral, and the way she held Teddy. She was a natural. And Harry had always known she was from a large family, but she was the baby of the family after all, just how was she so comfortable holding such a tiny baby? It wasn't just because she was a girl. Hermione hadn't seemed nearly as comfortable. Andromeda had offered Teddy to Hermione and even though she took him, her face was screwed up in concentration, her arms stiff and rigid, even Ron had noticed and chuckled about it. But with Ginny…

_The little bugger actually fell asleep!_

He was. Harry took his attention from Ginny's laughing face and looked towards Teddy. Face down in the crook of Ginny's elbow, his little rump sticking up from her hand, his eyes were gently shut, a bit of drool clinging to his lips and trailing to Ginny's forearm.

"Harry!"

"Hmm?" he mumbled, looking up in awe from Teddy to find Ginny staring at him. Andromeda was walking away. Harry saw her shake hands with an elderly couple just across the yard from him, their trio of bodies blocking the gleam from the coffins set by the graves that had already been dug.

"Do you want to hold him?" Ginny asked, breaking Harry's attention from the clean, shiny coffins and the bodies that lay within and forcing him to focus on her, her and the sleeping baby in her arms.

"I," he paused, rubbing the back of his neck. "Um, I don't know, maybe Hermione?"

"Hermione was terrified," Ginny laughed, pushing Harry with her free hand towards an empty chair. "C'mon, Mrs. Tonks needs a moment alone. She wants to say her last goodbyes. I told her you and I could watch Teddy for a bit, yeah?"

"Of course," he answered. _But,_ he wondered, _does that mean I have to hold him? What if he screams again? And what about changing diapers?_

"Harry," she murmured, giving him one final push; the back of his knees hit the chair. "He's your godson." That did it. Harry sat.

"How do I…"

"Just open your arms."

Ginny lay Teddy in Harry's arms, arranging his hold before stepping back. Harry locked the muscles of his shoulders, cradling the infant as best he could. It wasn't terribly comfortable, but Harry knew Teddy was safe, and that was all that mattered.

"Relax, Harry," Ginny murmured, coming to stand behind him. She placed her hands on his shoulders and he felt his muscles do just as she told him. Teddy, for his part, slept soundly throughout it all and once Harry felt more comfortable, he looked down into his godson's face. His hair was shifting again, a deep red this time.

"Ah, look Gin," he whispered. "He's Gryffindor all the way." Harry smiled down at the boy. "Just like your Dad, Teddy. He loves you so much."

"How could you not," Ginny murmured, leaning over Harry's back and resting her chin on his shoulder. The little bundle in his arms gave a start, shifting slightly. Harry tensed but all that happened was Teddy opened his eyes. He blinked up at Harry and smiled, his head shyly dipping into Harry's forearm.

Something shifted in Harry, something permanent.

"I'm so sorry, Teddy," Harry started, tears rising in his eyes for the first time that day despite how sad it had been. "I'm sorry they're gone, that they're not the ones here holding you. I'm sorry you got stuck with me."

"You're not so bad to be stuck with," Ginny whispered, her breath hot on his ear. If Harry hadn't been holding his godson, and still so nervous to be doing so, he would have pinned her to the nearest tree for the way she spoke. Her voice was husky and low and loaded with arousal. As it was he mock-glared at her and she laughed, ruffling his hair.

She seemed in no way embarrassed about last night. That morning, when he finally made it down to breakfast, she had pecked him lightly on the lips. It was the first time she had done that, greeting him with a kiss as he sat at the family's breakfast table. Out of the corner of his eye, he had seen Mrs. Weasley drop her spatula.

"Oh, Mum," Ginny had said, sitting next to Harry and sipping her coffee. "Harry and I are dating." Harry had been very sure that had the world offered him a hole to casually drop into, in that moment he would have leaped.

Mrs. Weasley had merely blinked a few times before clearing her throat. "That's very nice, dear," she said, turning back to the eggs frying on the stovetop. Harry noticed her hand rising to her eye in a quick sweep. "Thank you for telling us," she added, turning to glare at Ron who had just entered the kitchen.

"What?" he asked, flopping into his chair and stuffing an entire roll into his mouth.

"Ginny has just told me that she and Harry are seeing each other," Mrs. Weasley said, turning to the table and spooning a very generous portion of eggs unto Harry's plate. She offered a watery smile and pat Harry's hand as she past him. Harry noticed Ron didn't get nearly as large a portion. Ron noticed too.

"Mum?" Mrs. Weasley frowned in Ron's direction. "Can I have more toast if I tell you I'm seeing Hermione?"

Ginny had laughed as Molly hit Ron over the head with an oven mitt.

"You okay, Harry?" Ginny's voice was soft but warm, bringing him back to the present. She moved to sit next to him, her knee brushing his.

"Yeah, I'm…" Harry faltered, not quite knowing how to tell her he was alright when her brother was not in the ground a week.

"Everybody says that," she grumbled. Her eyes were downcast and she twisted her hands in her lap. Teddy gurgled happily.

"No, Gin, I—" Harry broke off again, struck by her eyes as she raised her face to his, struck by the sadness borne there.

She frowned when he stopped. "Just tell me the truth, how you really are."

"I'm okay," he answered, forcing his lips to respond. She sighed and her eyes fell to the ground again and Harry could sense she thought he was lying. "Look, really, I am. It's just, I hate saying it because sometimes I think I shouldn't be, but, well…" Teddy shifted again, curling his little fingers into Harry's lapel, cooing happily.

"Well?" Ginny prompted.

"It's over, isn't it? It's all over."

Ginny's face relaxed as understanding washed over it. Her lips parted slightly and her eyes got shiny.

"Shit! Ginny, I'm sorry. I didn't want to say the wrong thing. Don't cry," Harry begged and Teddy, sensing the tension, began to wail.

"No, you didn't, Harry," she said, her voice soft. "It's just—"

"Not bloody likely, Hermione!" Ron's voice cut across Ginny as he came up on the pair from behind. Teddy's cry became even more shrill.

"I'd ask you to be reasonable if I thought it was in any way within your capabilities, Ron," Hermione retorted acidly, her lips twisting as she spat out his name. "But it's going to happen whether you like it or not."

"Not without me it won't!" Ron said back, keeping his voice low. Only Ginny and Harry seemed to be aware they were fighting, which was a relief, given where they were.

"This isn't the place!" Hermione hissed.

"What are you two yelling about?" Ginny asked, surreptitiously wiping her eyes and then reaching for Teddy to soothe him. She waved away Andromeda who had turned to the group with her eyebrows raised, questioning her grandson's outburst.

"I'm going to Australia," Ron announced.

"He is not!" Hermione said with a discreet little stomp.

"I overhear her talking to Kingsley—"

"Eavesdropping! It was a private conversation!"

"—asking about international portkey restrictions and papers for one traveler. For _one_, Harry! Can you believe it?"

"Hermione," Harry placated, looking back at Teddy to find him resting peacefully, once again asleep on Ginny's forearm, "don't you think—"

"I know what you're going to say Harry and no, I don't think it'd be better if he came." Ron went to open his mouth but Hermione brought her heel down on his instep, causing him to wince with pain instead. "It's horrible timing. It just is. But I have to go and get my parents. It's not fair to them to leave them there, not knowing anything, not knowing me. I don't even have any idea where they are. Do you know how large Australia is? It could take months! And it's not appropriate for Ron to leave now, not with…" Hermione trailed off suddenly, her eyes blinking, her bottom lip bit. Ginny's gaze was leveled however.

"Oh, just say it. Not with his brother dead. Not with Fred in the ground and buried and never coming back! Not with Mum crying and grieving like a madwoman. Everyone's thinking it, just say it!" Ginny's jaw was set, her eyes fierce, but her grip on Teddy remained gentle. Harry rose from where he sat to stand behind her, one hand automatically reaching for her shoulder. But Ginny had already stepped forward.

"Hermione," she said, gentler this time. Hermione stared back with an expression Harry couldn't decipher. Ron's was easier. He looked shocked. "We need each other now. Now more than ever. And what do you think that tosspot would do with himself if you left him behind? He'd go mad! Worse than Mum. You can't do that to him and please, don't do that to me."

She said the last with a hint of a smile. Ron was only just catching up to her insult and sported a confused expression for a moment. Harry thought he should settle for grateful, Ginny just made his case much better than he ever could.

"But your Mum—" Hermione started, timid.

"She'll get over it, I told you," Ron interjected, Ginny nodding along.

"We did share a tent for a good part of last year," Harry offered. The look Hermione shot his way suggested that Harry's comment was completely off the point.

"I'm not going to talk about it now," Hermione said, coughing lightly. "We have some time before I—"

"We," Ron corrected. Hermione shot him a nasty look.

"_We_ need to go say our last respects," Hermione answered, her words wavering a bit towards the end as her eyes followed the line to Remus and Tonk's coffins. They were still propped open, the occupants looking for all the world as though they were asleep. But Harry knew better.

Ron sobered instantly. "Yeah, yeah, we should," he answered. "You coming?"

Ginny nodded her head as Harry shook his. The three looked to him in confusion. He had paid his respects at each and every funeral. Standing over Colin and Fred and countless others in the ceremonies that never seemed to end and whispering thanks and goodbye, just as he had done with Dobby not so many days before. He wanted to do it. He needed to, because he owed them. His life, the life of his friends, the freedom the world could now start to enjoy, it belonged to them. It belonged to the sacrificed. They were the saviors of this world, not he, not really. Nothing could have been done without them. But here, at this particular funeral, he owed someone else even more. He owed them a mother and a father and a life that was taken away before he could ever really appreciate having it in the first place. And so here, it was with Teddy he would stay.

Remus would have understood. And Harry liked to think Tonks would have as well. He had said his goodbye already: first in the castle and then again with Remus in the forest. He was positive, maybe even more sure than anyone else in that room could have been, that they were somewhere safe and warm and happy, that they were watching him and Teddy and the whole damn procession. And that they would understand why he stayed in the tree line, cooing to an infant he was growing to love with undeniable force, begging his forgiveness with funny faces and hugs and gurgling noises that brought back that shy little smile.

Hermione frowned but Ron, for a change, seemed to understand. He offered a shaky smile before pulling Hermione by the hand back towards the crowd at the coffins. Ginny eyed Harry, and the baby grinning in his arms, but didn't say a word. She joined her brother and best friend. And Harry was left alone, for the first time, with his godson.

A/N It's been a while. And though my reasons are understandable to me, they remain unforgivable. I'll tell you why anyway. I've written a book. Not a fanfiction, an original. And posting this story was my way of breaking through some writer's block about seven chapters ago. It worked, thank goodness, and now the novel is complete and …get this… in the hands of a real, live, honest-to-goodness agent in Manhattan! Big news for me and very exciting. Now, that all still means next to nothing. She could hate the thing and chuck it right in the trash but it's there and for now, that's everything.

So, because I've decided not to edit the original work until I've heard back from the agent, I'm back. I agree, this chapter's not the best, but it's getting us to the end, to an acceptable close.

And as for this story, I have to say I was surprised at how many people were disappointed with the last Ron/Hermione chapter, some of you even saying they weren't progressing as far as Harry and Ginny (and getting kind of upset about it, at that). One reader explained it to me (how R/Hr shippers are pretty possessive and don't like to think H/G is beating them out) and I understand it better now. But let me just say this: Ron and Hermione are in far better shape than Harry and Ginny. So far in this story, all the _best_ intimacies are shared by R/Hr. They can communicate and share and yell and fight without fear because they are learning that the other will never leave. Though H/G might appear more physically intimate, they have the harder time really communicating their needs. H/G are still growing into a couple, R/Hr are more or less already there. Sex isn't everything. (Though, I admit, it can make for more exciting reading!)

That being said, not everyone will be pleased with how this story ends. But remember, it's a story about healing, about getting through in the days following tragedy. It is not a love story. And who knows, maybe there'll be some companion pieces. Maybe a sequel focusing only on R/Hr. Australia is on the horizon. Who knows what my life may bring?

Thanks for the reminders and updates and reviews and support. It's been a crazy time for me but I can always count on the readers to give me a boost.

Cheers!

Ozma333


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

_Completely and utterly daft!_

She was, Ron was convinced. He loved her. Of course he loved her. But she was irrefutably the most pigheaded, stubborn witch that had ever been born.

And if she really thought she could keep him from going to Australia with her… Well, he'd just have to add stupid to the list as well. And Hermione Granger was anything but stupid.

"What's all the noise about?" came a tired voice after Ron slammed a kitchen cabinet closed. Ron turned with a newly acquired bowl to find George slumped over a coffee mug. It was early enough to technically be called morning, but his brother still hadn't showered. Even Ron had already showered. Right before provoking Hermione into another row that left her hauling out a suitcase and he irritated enough to ignore her idiocy in favor of a well-deserved, albeit late, breakfast.

But George distracted him. He looked horrible. Well, even _more_ horrible. He had looked just plain horrible for a week and a half now.

"Sorry," Ron mumbled, nervous around this new George, unsure how to act around him now that he wasn't being seconded and echoed every other sentence. It was as though, when he spoke with George, he was constantly waiting. Each time he ended a sentence or started to talk, Ron was waiting for that other voice to jump in with a quip or joke. The other voice never came. Not for Ron. Maybe it did for George, maybe it lingered in his head, talking and laughing and teasing. Or maybe there was silence there too. Ron didn't know which he found more frightening, that Fred remained or that he was really gone forever, even from his twin.

George looked up at Ron now, his head cocked to the side. His cheeks had that horrible, hollow look to them, ashy and a little sallow. He was thin and unkempt. He was falling apart.

"Why?" he asked. Ron started.

"Why what?"

"Why are you sorry, git?"

"Oh, erm, the cupboard," Ron answered, gesturing vaguely with the empty bowl in his hand and moving to the stove. He kept his eyes trained on the porridge he was scooping, ignoring the dead-eyed stare George was directing his way. The pot on the stove was still warm, not hot by any means, but it would do.

"Am I that different?" George's voice was a whisper, his eyes still trained on his little brother. Ron froze, the porridge halfway to his bowl. "I don't recognize myself. I'm not whole. Every time I look, I see only him. He's there, all the time, in the gaps, in every word, at the end of every sentence. And I'm not me if he's not here. We were a _we_. I'm not a _him_, I never was."

If Ron could have turn and run and not hated himself for doing it, he would have. But as it was, he had to turn and sit. Porridge splattered a bit on the stovetop from where it had fallen off his spoon and the bowl completely forgotten, he joined George at the table. The later had his hands wrapped around what appeared to be cold dredges of coffee and was staring into the depths, as though reading tea leaves that weren't really there.

"I don't know what to say," Ron said. He didn't mean to be trite or cliché. It was the truth. He had no idea what he could tell his brother. But George took his eyes from the coffee and looked to Ron, and Ron knew he needed more than just that.

"It sucks. Worse for you than anyone, I reckon," Ron added, wincing as the words his brain chose flowed from his mouth. George swallowed heavily and looked back to the cold drink.

"And people say they're sorry and I guess that they are, but it's not enough, not really. I _miss_ him." Ron wasn't sure when his words and thoughts for George switched to himself, but they seemed to be there now and they didn't seem to want to stop. "I hate that he's gone. I fucking hate it. And I get so mad sometimes. I get really effing pissed, like I want to hit something or maybe down a bottle of firewhiskey, just something big, something to show how mad, how fucking _angry_ I am. But then I just deflate, like a nancy, and I can barely move. I just sit there, pissed off and then all of a sudden I'm crying. I hate that too, that I can't do anything about it. That it just _is_ and I'm supposed to lie down and accept it. I think I hate that most of all, there's nothing I can do, nothing anyone can do. And he's gone."

"Effing gone," George echoed.

"Yeah." Ron's eyes found the grooves in the table. They were mismatched and uneven, years of scars and marks from more than half a dozen children coloring and dropping utensils and, once, an all out war involving levitating Mum's entire stock of pots and pans. Ron could still make out the groove when he had mis-thrown a frying pan at Charlie. It never would have hit him anyway. Charlie was always tops at repulsion charms.

"And then it's worse when I'm mad at him," Ron admitted in a low tone. It was something he hadn't even told Hermione. Something he didn't even want to admit to himself. Because it was wrong, wasn't it? Being angry at the dead. He was ashamed he felt that way. But it was the truth. And George seemed to need to hear the truth.

"I get really, really angry at him. Why wasn't he more careful? Didn't he care he'd be screwing all of us if he died? Didn't he think of Mum? Of Ginny and me? Of you? What the fuck was his problem? Couldn't he have even ducked?" Ron's voice rose in volume the longer he spoke. He very nearly shouted the last part. And he was so absorbed with his thoughts, he almost forgot to look back to George, almost didn't see his older brother blinking back at him, shock splayed across his features. But even if he hadn't looked, he would have heard the laugh.

George laughed. It was weak and short-lived. But, he laughed.

"He should have ducked," George murmured slowly, as though testing each word before he spoke. "Selfish ass," he added, a little more surely. Ron sat up straighter in his chair.

"Even sidestepped," Ron offered lightly, shrugging. "That might've helped." George's lip twitched.

"Or been down in the bleeding passageway where he was supposed to be instead of gallivanting off looking for some action."

"Yeah, could've done that too," Ron agreed with more conviction and a smile tugging at his lip.

"He had a wand, didn't he? Couldn't he think to wave it around a bit? Didn't we go to school for that?"

"To be fair, none of us ever finished."

"We all knew how to dodge. Not that hard, really," George said. "Probably he just wanted all the glory, all for himself."

"Yeah, and now look at the prat. His name in the history books, a plaque dedicated to him at Hogwarts and the Ministry. Fucking selfish, if you ask me," Ron said. George nodded in agreement.

"Completely self-centered."

Ron chuckled and George joined in before settling quietly. The atmosphere felt different. Not even better really, just different. George was still lost and Ron was still angry, but they were together.

"Want to go to Australia?" Ron blurted out into the shared silence. He hadn't really thought it through and he knew it was random from the way George's eyebrows rose to his hairline. But it didn't matter. It made sense. Ron had to go because Hermione had to go. But George _should_ go, if only to get away for a bit, to get on the road to becoming a _him_ and not only a _we_.

"On holiday?"

"Sure, only not just that," Ron clarified. "Hermione's parents are there and we need to find them. She's been trying to pull some weight to get a few contacts in the Australian Ministry looking for them and that's great and all, but Hermione wants to be there to set them right."

"And you want me along?" George asked skeptically, his hands fidgeting around his coffee mug once again.

"Why not? You know Mum'll go spare if I tell her I'm on holiday with my girlfriend."

George barked out a laugh. "So you need a chaperone? Ickle Ronnikens doesn't want to be all alone with Hermione."

Ron chuckled. "Or I want to spend time with my older brother while my girlfriend goes mad trying to find and then restore her parents. Trust me, I could use the company."

Ron leveled his gaze at George, who seemed to be considering him. "I don't know, Ron," he said finally, softly. And Ron knew he was being serious again.

"You're not just a _we_, George. You're a _you_. You should take some time to find that out." Ron stared his brother down, watching him fidget uncomfortably under his gaze.

"I don't know if I can leave just yet," he finally said and, involuntarily, his eyes traveled the line west, the direction Fred's grave lay.

"Everything will be here when you get back," Ron said, watching George and forcing his eyes to return to him. "I can even help you get the shop set up, but Australia first. C'mon," he added, sensing resistance, "you know I won't bug you, Hermione neither, we'll let you be when you want us to. And there's fun to be had there, too."

"You couldn't keep Hermione in line if you had to. She can't help but hover," George muttered, but his excuses were weakening.

"I'm doing better these days, I find it's getting easier to distract her," Ron returned smugly.

"Chapter Eleven?" George asked, perking up with a smirk as he referenced the gift he and Fred had given him for his last birthday. It remained to this day, in Ron's opinion at least, the most useful book in creation.

"Maybe," Ron quipped back. "I'm not telling."

George snorted. "So you're still at Chapter Two, eh?"

"Come with us and I'll spill."

"It can't be any good or you'd be bragging," George hedged, squirming in his seat.

"Are you coming?"

"Probably not even past Chapter Four."

"Australia. Yes or no?"

George swallowed. "You sure you don't mind?"

"It's a yes?" Ron asked, grinning. George nodded. "Good! And it's Chapter Fourteen."

George's eyes widened in appreciation before he offered a thumbs up.

~O~O~

"I'm going to—"

"You're not, Ron," Hermione interrupted, turning from her suitcase to face the open doorway. "How many times do I have to say it?" She sounded tired and exasperated.

_Well tough, let her be. That's what you get when you act like a stubborn cow._

"Mum said it was okay," Ron said, now smirking at her. Her jaw dropped. Ron's had almost done the same when he had asked his Mum. He could see her tense at first, could see the argument rising in her throat, even though she never seemed to have the strength left to really yell.

"Ron," Molly had said, her hands fluttering feebly to her hips, "this is not the time to be running off. We're a family. We have to stick together. You can't possibly expect George to be able to leave now."

But the fight completely dissolved when he explained about George, about how it would be good for the three of them to take a break. He explained that there was no way that Hermione could go by herself, how it wasn't right they should even ask it of her; how George could keep him company on the nights Hermione took, the nights she needed to take, to explain things to her parents, to earn back their trust and forgiveness. She was teary, said she had to check with his Dad, but once Mum was okay with it, the deal was practically sealed.

"She… what?"

"She agreed it was for the best. I told you that you couldn't go by yourself, it's not right for a witch—"

"And I've told you, you don't get to decide what is and isn't right for me!"

"What are you griping about? You said I couldn't go because Mum would pitch a fit, here I am telling you she's fine with it. What's the problem?"

Hermione bristled. Her mouth bobbed open and shut soundlessly, as though she was searching for an argument in her head. Ron smirked again.

"Oh, stop doing that!" she hissed, finally coming out of her stupor.

"Doing what?" Ron asked, grinning back at her.

"Looking like that, like you've won."

"I have won. I'm going and that's that. You should be happy, Hermione. We get to spend some time together away from all this mess." He said the last with a tinge of uncertainty. He knew she would act offended and putout at first, it was what they did. They fought and argued and one of them would invariably win (usually her) and the other would pretend to pout about it (usually him) and then it was over. But what if she really didn't want him around? He had wanted her, all throughout the funerals and the speeches and the re-building of his home. He wanted her there. Why would she want to cut him out?

_Stop it, Ron!_

He hated that his line of thought always went there, to that place, to the place where he was unwanted and unloved. She loved him. He knew that. It wasn't that.

_So what was it?_

He watched her. She wasn't as subtle as she liked to think she was. There were signs, little tells that he was learning to read. Her ears were red, just the tips, and there were light blotches of color high on her cheeks. She was blushing. Just lightly, but it was there.

"You want me," he said, a little incredulous. She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. But he knew he was right. "So that's it."

"What's it?" she asked, twisting her lips in irritation.

"You think I'm irresistible and you're not sure you'll be able to handle yourself with me in a dark, lonely, completely isolated hotel room." Ron saw her jaw drop for a second time.

"You're mad," she whispered but there wasn't enough scorn in her voice to convince him he was wrong.

"And now you're wondering if I've suddenly mastered Legitimacy because I've hit the nail so hard on the head it went through the board."

"Don't be insane," she muttered, avoiding his eyes and turning back to her still empty suitcase, her hands were trembling just slightly. She didn't even seem to notice he had used a Muggle analogy. He thought he should score points just for that. Unless he hadn't used it correctly, but Ron was pretty sure he had.

He took a step forward into her room and saw her stiffen. She practically jumped out of her shoes when he shut the door. Ron crossed the room in three steps while she kept her back to him.

"So you don't want me?" he whispered in her ear, pressing up against her from behind. He felt, rather than heard, her take a deep breath.

"I never said that but it has absolutely nothing to do with—"

"So you haven't thought about it?" he pushed, wrapping his arms around her from behind and prying the jumper she was attempting to pack out of her shaking grip. Her legs were pinned between his legs and the bed, and there was a slight tremble to her stance.

"Thought about what?"

"You and me, alone, not even having to be quiet or silence the room, no one coming to interrupt us," he murmured each enticing scenario in her ear and heard her swallow heavily.

"Is that what's bothering you?" he continued, dropping a light kiss on her neck and pulling her arms into herself as he squeezed her in a light hug.

"Not, not _bothering_ me," she admitted in a shaky whisper. "Just—"

"Because there is such a thing as separate rooms, you know," he interrupted, dropping her arms and stepping back, grinning as he watched her turn with an angry scowl.

"You're impossible!" she grumbled.

"No, I'm irresistible," he corrected. "And so are you. And that's why I'm coming to Australia."

"Oh, fine, just do what you want," she said angrily, turning from him. But her blushing cheeks gave her away. She wasn't really angry, just flustered. He loved her flustered.

He loved her any which way, really.

"Well, I don't know," Ron mused aloud, leaning into the closed bedroom door and crossing his arms over his chest as he watched Hermione start packing. "If I'm unwanted…"

Hermione snorted as he trailed off, not rising to his bait.

"I wouldn't want to be in the way or anything," he pressed, smirking at her back from across the room. "Seeing as I'm not needed."

She continued to ignore him and Ron decided to rise to the challenge. He strode casually to her side, picking up a pair of trousers to fold for her. She grabbed them back immediately.

"I'll dream about you," he whispered. He watched her profile as he leaned over her, reaching for another article of clothing to fold, a jumper this time, warm and soft.

_Just like her._

"Every night," he continued, breathing softly in her ear, "thinking about that dark room, a big bed, and you all alone there."

"There's a twelve hour time difference," Hermione said crisply. "If you're thinking about me at night, I'll already be awake, running around Australia."

"During the day then," Ron amended softly. "At lunch, dinner, right before I go to bed. You'll just be waking up then, won't you? I'll be remembering that morning we woke up together."

"Your shoulder was killing you after that," Hermione said, deftly folding a shirt before adding it to the growing pile.

"Not that morning," Ron corrected, knowing she understood by the way her cheeks grew red. He reached for more to fold, watching her and giving her time to consider. He looked down when his fingers felt something as soft as silk. Panties.

_If you could call them that. _

Small and silken and Gryffindor red. He swallowed heavily. Hermione hadn't seemed to notice.

_Don't be a prat. Don't be a prat. Don't be a prat._

Ron hooked them on his finger and held them up. "Should I fold these?"

Hermione's head shot up and she snatched them away, her cheeks flaming brighter as she turned from Ron to add them to the pile.

"Anticipating a need for them?" he asked, resuming his casual line. His eyes were already searching her jumble of clothing for more. Seven years of falling in love, so many years of wanting her, of wanking to thoughts of her in panties so much more conservative than those, he needed a second peek. Ron was too absorbed and he didn't notice when Hermione turned to him, hands already on her hips, eyes flashing.

"Are you coming or not?" she demanded.

"What does that have to do with your knickers?" Ron asked. He knew he was being a cheeky git but she was just so damn attractive when she got flustered and angry with him.

"You asked if I have a need for these," she answered, spinning to pull the red panties from the pile and wave them in front of his face. Ron's throat went dry at the sight. "If you come, maybe I do."

"If I don't?" Ron asked, not being able to resist pushing her just a bit further. She grit her teeth and threw them at him. The knickers bounced off his chest before landing in his open hands.

"Enjoy your mornings."

She was breathing heavily, chest rising and falling, cheeks flushed, eyes flashing. The image of her recalled easily the dozens, _hundreds_, of arguments Ron had engaged her in before. Krum and McLaggen and Lavender, Quidditch and studying, her cat, Harry. Her face changed in each memory. Sometimes he could perfectly envision her huge front teeth, he smiled every time he thought about that younger Hermione. Other times it was remembering the moments when he first realized she was pretty, that time he found himself staring at breasts he hadn't realized had existed, once she had become so enraged, throwing her arms up in exasperation, and unknown to her a pale, pink bra strap had shown. Ron didn't win that argument in the end. Too distracting.

Just like the promise of soft silk against his rough hands was. Distracting. Maybe she did that to him on purpose. Maybe distraction would work on her.

"Do I get to keep these if I do?" he asked, smirking down at her. Her mouth gaped open.

"Pig!" she yelled, pushing him.

"You threw them at me!" Ron yelled back through a chuckle. He wrapped her tiny wrists in his hands, spinning her and pinning her arms across her chest. He pulled her back against his chest as she attempted to squirm out of the hold.

"Let me go, Ron!"

"So you can hit me again? Not likely."

She tried to pull her arms free in vain, struggling with only half an effort.

"You don't really want me to let you go, do you?" he asked in a rough whisper, leaning down to press his lips to the shell of her ear. She wiggled against him.

"Stop confusing me," she retorted, but her tone was weak.

"What do you want?"

"I want to get back to packing. I want you to stop this foolishness and either say you're coming with me or you're not. And, for the record, I still think it's a terrible idea for you to come in the first place, it's just—"

She stuttered to a stop when he pressed his mouth to her neck, sucking gently on the skin there.

"You're so sexy when you get all flushed like this," he murmured. "I always loved that when we fought." Her skin was sweet and just a touch salty; she shifted and moved against him as he nipped his way to her shoulder. And very slowly, he started to drag her hands up, covered by his own.

"Keep going, Hermione," he mumbled. "Tell me what else you want."

He felt her swallow heavily against his lips, her pulse was racing. "I… I—"

She wasn't very articulate, but Ron felt he couldn't really blame her. Her hands, still covered with his own, were now tracing the curve under her breasts.

"Nothing?" he prompted, moving her hands higher until they encased her breasts. He entwined his fingers with hers as they stroked her together. "At the very least you should tell me whether or not you want me in Australia. What do you say, Hermione? Do you want me?"

It was a loaded question and Ron knew it. It was nearly impossible to hide how he wanted her. The evidence was pressing right up against her backside. Ron might have been more embarrassed if it weren't for the way Hermione was subtly, but undeniably, rubbing against him. A little shudder ripped through Ron every time her bum shifted and brought her body into closer contact with his erection.

"Maybe," Hermione started, a little breathless, as Ron continued sucking on her neck. "Maybe, you should come."

_Horrible word choice, that was._

Ron smiled into her skin. "Right now?" he asked, knowing he was earning a swat to the head. But Hermione surprised him. She wiggled back into him, arching her body and pressing her bum to his most intimate of places.

"If that's all it would take," she teased, throwing him a smirk over her shoulder.

"Hark! Look who's talking," Ron shot back through a grin. Ron had time to watch Hermione roll her eyes before he spun her around for a kiss. She lost no time wrapping her fingers into his shirt, gripping him, pressing up against him.

"You don't fight fair, you know," Hermione murmured as Ron released her lips before attaching his mouth to the base of her throat. She whimpered, her hands clutching convulsively as his shirt.

"It's not that I don't want you," she continued, her voice uneven and hitching in places. "I do. I don't want to be alone."

"Why fight me then?" he whispered into her skin, kissing his way to her jaw line. She took a deep breath.

"I don't want to be a burden to your family. I don't want you to think you have to," she said. He slowed, allowing her time to say what she needed. Besides, there was this one particular spot that, when he sucked gently, would have her trembling in minutes. "And I don't want you to get bored either."

"Bored?" Ron's head shot up, eyeing Hermione in disbelief. "How could I ever get bored with you? It'll never happen, you daft bird."

Hermione rolled her eyes and stepped away from him, reaching out to smooth the shirt that she had crinkled up with her grip. "Sorry about that," she muttered.

"I don't care about my shirt," Ron grumbled. "What'd you mean bored?"

"It's not a holiday, Ron!" Hermione shouted, uncertainty and anger seeping into her voice. "They probably hate me! That's if I can even find them in the first place. I'm their only daughter and I stripped them of all memory of me. What kind of person does that? If they even talk to me ever again, it'll take some time. Are you prepared to wait for it? Or is this going to be a couple weeks of looking for them and then 'Oh, sorry, Hermione, I can't take it, I'm heading back?'" The last bit was said in a horrible, weak imitation that had Ron's chest seizing. It was the tent, all over again. It was him leaving because he couldn't handle it. And she thought he might do it again. She didn't believe in him, or she wanted to spare him, but either way she didn't trust him enough to go with her.

"You think I'll leave you again," he said. It wasn't a question; it wasn't quite an accusation. Just fact. But it felt cold and hard as it came out of his mouth.

"I didn't mean it like that," Hermione whispered, as though just realizing what she was saying, just seeing the similarity between this situation and before.

"But it's true. I left before, why not this time, right?" His voice was hollow. He wanted to be angry, he really did. But she was right. He had left.

_But I won't this time, not ever again._

"I didn't mean that," she said again. And suddenly, there were tears brimming in her eyes, she raised a shaky hand to swipe them away. Ron hummed in acknowledgement but didn't really have anything left to offer. He was feeling restless, like he needed to move, go for a walk or something.

"Where are you going?" she asked in a rush, reaching for his arm as he made for the door.

"Out, just for a bit," he replied, offering a faulty grin when he looked at her. "Don't worry, I'll be back soon."

She nodded and stepped back, wiping at her eyes again with the corner of her sleeve.

"Oh, and by the way," he added, turning to leave, "George is coming with us."

He just caught her confused expression as the door swung shut.

A/N So firstly, I took almost half an hour looking for a more British expression than: "It sucks." Nothing seemed to fit. So yes, I know, OOC. Ron wouldn't say that. I get it. Sorry. If anyone out there has a better line, feed it to me now and I'll keep it in reserve for the next time I need it.

And, I know, I know… Ron and Hermione are fighting. Again. Don't they ever stop? In my opinion: no. They do not. Not now, and not after they're married, and not ever really. Fights happen for everyone, and for those two, just a bit more often.

More resolution to come! Actually, Harry and Ginny are giving me quite the hard time. Harry's character has gone as far as I needed him to and in much less time, and Ginny… well, Ginny escapes me sometimes. So the next chapter is being written, but slowly. I know... I'm sorry!

And as a last note: THANK YOU! The reviews for the last chapter were so kind and wonderful. I'm really feeling the support for my Ron/Hr chapters (although, I don't know, maybe not after this one… we'll see). I appreciate everyone who has stuck with me so far, I know the breaks have been unacceptably long in between updates.

Cheers and best wishes!

Oh, and everyone saw Deathly Hallows by now right? Wasn't Emma Watson incredible? I thought so.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

"Is he down here?" Hermione asked, peeking into the living room as she pulled the folds of her dressing gown closed. Ginny popped up from her comfortable position on Harry's chest to answer.

"Who?"

"Ron," Hermione snapped, sounding irritable. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"We haven't seen him all night," Harry offered, tugging Ginny back into place. She settled again without an argument. Hermione furrowed her brow, pacing the length of the room. Ginny turned to Harry with her eyebrows raised. It seemed any hope of a repeat performance of the past night was out while Hermione paced like a crazy woman in her nightdress.

"Didn't he tell you where he was going?" Ginny pressed. All she earned was a scowl for her efforts.

"Out," Hermione answered. "Which, really, is a completely ridiculous answer. He's obviously not _in_. Where else could he be but _out_?"

"So you had a fight?" Ginny asked, distracted momentarily when Harry began playing with her hair. He had always seemed so fascinated by it. When they had dated those few short weeks at Hogwarts he was forever twining his fingers through it.

Hermione dropped into a chair and put her face in her hands. "I'm such a nagging arse!"

Now Ginny was sitting up straight. "A what? I don't think I've ever heard that word come out of your mouth!"

She ignored Harry's muttered, "I have."

"I've been really worried and scared. And oh, what if they hate me? They could. I wouldn't blame them. It's been far, far too long. And I'm terrified to be by myself. The nightmares, they can be so awful but then won't it be worse if he's there, and then he's not? And I'm alone for the first time not by my choice, but by his? I can't handle that!"

"Hermione, what are you on about?" Ginny asked, moving further from Harry and staring at her best friend. Hermione turned frustrated and worried eyes back to Ginny.

"It happened before, but Harry was there and if he wasn't, I don't know. I couldn't have… I would have…" she trailed off, putting her face in her hands before mumbling, "I'm sorry."

"Hermione, Ron's not going to leave you again," Harry said, understanding far more of Hermione's rambling than Ginny had.

"I never thought he'd leave me in the first place!" Hermione groaned, her head shooting up out of her hands, her lower lip just barely trembling. "Never!"

"I would never have guessed it either," Ginny said in a soft tone. "But I'd stake every Galleon I have that he wouldn't again."

"I thought it might be different there," she mumbled back. Hermione's knees were drawn to her chest, her arms lay folded across the top of them, and she rest her cheek there as she looked to Harry and Ginny.

It was so strange for Hermione to be coming to Ginny for support. For so long, it had been the other way around. She had always complained about Ron, grumbled over his manners, his moods, the signals she could never seem to decipher. But she wasn't really coming to Ginny for help, just for a bit of griping. It had always been Hermione who would offer support, advice, help with homework. She who had advised Ginny to move on past Harry, and then to take her head out of her bum when Harry started to pay attention again. Ginny was the younger, the little sister role, before she was ever a friend. The past year at Hogwarts had changed many things for Ginny, but the biggest change, she was convinced, was how no one seemed to treat her like a child anymore. It seemed that, once you survived your first torture sessions, the nightmares that followed, organized a rebellion, fought a war, you lost that childhood status. Even though, through most parts of most days, in many ways, she still _felt_ like a child.

"Australia?" Harry clarified Hermione's last comment, bring Ginny back to the present. Hermione nodded.

"But," Ginny started, feeling her brow scrunch in confusion. "I thought George was going too? How could he leave, be that big a prat, if George was there too?"

"That was… he was serious?" Hermione blinked at Ginny.

Ginny shrugged. "Seemed to be. Mum's yelling was anyway."

Hermione seemed to crumple in on herself. "I didn't think he was serious. I didn't think he had even asked George yet. And I didn't know any of that when I said those things to him," she mumbled through the hands now covering her face.

The back door slammed open and Hermione's head shot up. But it was only Arthur, who blinked at the three teenagers staring at him before asking, "Was I not expected?"

"Sorry, Dad," Ginny said, smiling up at him. "We thought you might be Ron."

"Ron?" Arthur questioned. "Is he not back yet?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny saw Harry go to answer, but Hermione's voice cut him off. "Do you know where he went?" She sounded more shrill than she probably would have liked.

Arthur seemed to have noticed as well. "With George," he answered kindly. "His apartment over the shop, actually. George said he needed a few things and Ron offered to go with him."

Hermione muttered something Ginny couldn't quite catch before walking out of the room, Arthur patting her on the shoulder as she passed before turning to follow her.

"They won't ever stop, will they?" Ginny mused as she gave Harry's chest a little push. He fell back to the sofa, pulling her with him.

"Not likely," he answered through a yawn, reaching for her hair once again. His fingers thread softly through her fiery strands. "But they wouldn't be Ron and Hermione if they did."

"Don't know how you could stand them, all those months," Ginny yawned into his tee shirt. This one was red but worn, appearing almost pink at the seams. His body heat positively seeped through.

Harry chuckled. "The map helped."

"Map?"

"My Hogwarts map. You. You're dot, watching you sleep," Harry mumbled into her hair, effectively hiding his face from her. "It was how I spent a lot of my time."

"I didn't know that," Ginny murmured into his chest, a giddy smile overtaking her features. She heard Harry's embarrassed laugh rumble through him.

The warmth of the Burrow combined with Harry's chest did magical things. The worn sofa cradled her body and Harry's deep breathing lulled her senses. Ginny felt calm, almost happy. And she wasn't sure if she really should. It was only last night that she was crying by herself on a staircase. And nothing had happened in the short twenty or so hours since then to change anything. Fred was still gone, George was still a mess, Ron still angry, her mum still miserable.

Except…

Ron wasn't quite as angry, not really. She could tell by the way his shoulders finally straightened, even in the way he started offering that goofy grin when Hermione came into the room. And her mum was different too. Not by much, but Ginny had come across her after Ron had somehow gotten her to agree to he and George taking a holiday halfway across the world, and she had pat Ginny's cheek as she entered the room. Just a warm hand, the briefest of touches, but it was something she hadn't done in what felt like ages. When she closed her eyes, Ginny could feel the press of her fingers still. It had taken everything she had not to sob in relief in that moment. Somewhere deep inside, Mum was still Mum.

And George. Definitely still a mess. But he laughed. Ron made him do it, Ginny had heard. She was in the living room, dusting and tidying up, trying to help her Mum in any way possible, and she heard Ron's cursing and yelling and George's _laugh_.

And now, at the end of the day, she finally understood what Harry meant when he had said, "It's over, isn't it? It's all over."

Fred was gone. And it still hurt like hell. But the rest of her family was here. And they would heal, not just individually, but together. There may be setbacks, and nights when Fred's void seemed impossible to survive, but that's when they'd pull together. That's what family was for.

And someday, she knew, the nightmares would stop too. But until then, she was content with having her very own nightmare repellent.

"Harry?" she murmured, he started underneath her, possibly drifting to sleep.

"Hmm?" he hummed in sleepy acknowledgement.

"I know what you meant," she whispered, keeping with the mood. "Today when you said it was all over."

He hummed again and his fingers stroked once more though her hair.

"We're going to be okay, all of us," she said.

"I really think we are Gin," Harry whispered, dropping a light kiss to her crown.

O~O~O

A loud wolf-whistling woke Ginny. She burrowed closer to Harry and tried to ignore it, the shrill piercing sound, but soon it was accompanied by someone poking her in the shoulder.

"Ow! What?" she yelled, rolling away from Harry and nearly falling off the couch. It was only Harry's quick hands that saved her, dragging her back into his chest. He was squinting past her and Ginny reached over him for his glasses, which he must have slipped off at some point.

"Getting a little cozy there, aren't you Potter?" teased a voice, but the words were all wrong, slurred a bit.

"Nah, probably Gin, if anyone's out to take advantage, it'd be her," mumbled a second voice, sounding highly amused with themselves. She felt Harry tighten below her.

"My, my," Ginny started, moving away from Harry and sitting up to see Ron and George, grinning like idiots and obviously smashed, leaning into each other and staring down at her. "Isn't somebody pissed? First time with Firewhiskey, Ronnie? Doesn't go down as smooth as Butterbeer, does it?"

"Even smoother," Ron boasted in a slur. George guffawed before pounding Ron on the back. Ginny heard Harry laugh from where he was still stretched out behind her.

"Ron, good brother that he is, was helping me get my things for our world trip," George said, patting Ron hard on the back once more. Harry actually reached around Ginny and pulled her closer, it had looked for a moment that Ron might just topple forward. "But we found the bottle and thought, 'Why Miss Granger might not appreciate this particular item,' so we thought we'd lighten the load."

"How thoughtful of you," Ginny snorted.

"We thought so," Ron said, nodding.

"Well _Miss Granger_ wasn't too happy with you when we talked to her a few hours ago," Ginny said, eyeing Ron now and judging the time lost by how dark it seemed to be outside now. Ron's eyebrows drew together in a line.

"Told you," he muttered, apparently to George.

"You also told me what you'd do about that," George replied with a waggle of his eyebrows. Ginny got the feeling that she was happy to have been left out of that particular discussion.

Ron grinned. "Chapter eighteen."

"I'm telling you Ron, she'd tie your wand in a knot if you tried it!"

Ron merely grinned wider before stumbling up the stairs.

"Ah youth," George slurred, looking back to Harry and Ginny with a twinkle in his eye. "You two behave now," he quipped before following Ron up the stairs towards his own room.

"You know Gin," Harry murmured to her moments later, "I think our rooms might be occupied for a bit."

"She really is going to tie his wand in a knot," Ginny chuckled.

"I'd rather not think about it," Harry answered through a grimace while Ginny laughed.

"But, I think you're right," she said, grinning as she settled back into Harry's embrace. He summoned a blanket and tucked it around them. "Guess we'll just have to wait it out here."

Harry handed her his glasses and she stretched to place them on the side table, his arms came around her as she did.

"Night Gin."

"Goodnight Harry."

A/N It's short, but… well, it's all I had to say. Cheers!


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

"Are you drunk?"

She stood in shocked disbelief. She had heard that line overused in hundreds of Muggle novels and movies and had never, _never_ thought she'd use the trite, stale statement herself. But there was nothing else for it. Ron was smashed.

And he wasn't even denying it, he merely shrugged at her, grinning madly as he leant against her bedroom doorjamb.

"I was… and you just…" she stammered, relief and fury warring in her mind. Yes, he was safe and here, he came back to her.

But drunk, he came back to her drunk! And leering, he was leering at her, stepping into the room and shutting the door, just like he had hours ago, before he left her worried and frustrated and in tears.

"I'm sorry," were the first words out of his mouth, whispered and slurred just a bit. His eyes were glassy and his cheeks flushed. He looked like he had weathered a snowstorm to see her, not a balmy May night.

And what was he apologizing for? For drinking, for being a complete prat? For leaving her alone with Harry in those woods so many months ago?

All things he should apologize for, but it irritated her not to know which he meant.

_Always talking in circles, always!_

"You're sorry?" she asked, steeling herself with a deep breath. Her instincts kicked in and years of fighting with Ron, of hurling insults and weathering his ridiculous decisions and horrid moods had prepared her. Her shoulders were thrown back, her teeth grit. "You're a complete arse, you know that?"

But her tirade was halted when he nodded. "Mhmm, I do. I know that," he whispered, still advancing.

"You… but—"

"I'm a complete and utter prat," he continued, now standing in front of her and having to look down to catch her eye. "I was teasing you and I shouldn't have, I know how stressed you are."

"That's completely off the point!"

"It's not," he whispered, tilting his head as he regarded her. His breath washed over her face, spicy with the after effects of the whiskey he must have had. "I'm sorry."

"But you're drunk!" Hermione cried, pushing at his chest to back him away. She felt confused. By rights, she should be furious. And she was.

_I am. I really am!_

But he was so tall and his chest was so firm and even through the glassy state of his eyes, she could still look into them and see that he loved her. He was practically shouting it.

And his lips, they were just the slightest bit wet, and plush, yes definitely plush. Perfect for kissing.

And he was here. He was _back_. He didn't hate her. He wasn't leaving her. Relief flowed through her so strongly that most of the rage was swept up in its tide.

Ron looked away from her at her last comment. He sheepishly brought his hand up to rub the back of his neck. "Er, yeah, I am. I guess."

"There's no guessing about it, Ron! You're completely smashed!" Hermione accused, crossing her arms tightly. "You leave me here all worried about you, worried that you left, no word, no anything, and then you just waltz in hours later bloody well pissed? That's not—"

Hermione was cut off as Ron's lips crashed with near violent force into her own. She stumbled back under the pressure only to be caught by his hands, which had circled behind her and were now pressing into her lower back.

Anger, it swept blindly through Hermione's mind and her hands found their way to Ron's chest. But her fingers didn't push, they curled. Her hands curled into his rumpled shirt and she pulled, pulled him closer, so hard that he almost lost his footing and toppled them both. But his hand shot out, bracing himself against the desk she was backed up against. And there was a moment when she could have broken away, when his hand wasn't holding her to him, when his mouth bumped off hers and the air felt cool against her wet lips and she could feel the breath panting from Ron, but she didn't.

Her mouth sought his, responded to his movements even as her brain screamed at her to stop, to be angry, to protest. And then she was kissing him, snogging him, using teeth and tongue and lips and fingers and anything she had to draw him in and closer. The anger swelled inside her, shifting and roiling until it spread and mixed with the ache in her belly, the tingling between her legs.

She wanted him, every part of him, and in that moment she didn't care how it happened.

His lips left hers, trailing to her jaw. His chin nudged her face up until he had unrestricted access to her neck. She knew that what he was doing would leave marks. She moved against him, needing friction, needing something to ground her. But he had shifted his hold, moving his hands from her lower back to her hips, pressing her against the edge of the desk. She writhed against his hold as his tongue drove circles into the flesh of her neck.

But his hands didn't stay locked on her hips for long, his fingertips found the edge of her shirt and stole underneath, searing the skin of her stomach. She surged forward, tightening her hold of his shirt until she felt the seams strain. And his hands surged up, raking over the flesh of her abdomen and further, taking the shirt with them.

She wasn't wearing anything underneath, but when he finally ripped the shirt over her head there were no awkward pauses this time, no breathless moments of wonder. There was just his hands encasing her, stroking her, teasing. And when he rolled her nipple between his fingers her head fell back and she keened.

The next moments were a blind shuffle. He was lifting her. She was on the desk. He was between her legs, close and yet not nearly close enough. His shirt was lost. Her breasts were tingling, gooseflesh everywhere. His stubble left a burning trail in it's wake as his lips found hers again. She stuttered into his kiss when her breasts pressed into his bare chest.

And it was so real, so fast, and so blindingly consuming, that she almost missed it. Here, in Ginny's bedroom, pinned to a desk, topless, with the man she had wanted for ages.

But not like this.

Not fast and without thought, not in his sister's bedroom, not on a desk!

Not the first time.

Ron's fingers fumbled with the ties of her pajama bottoms and Hermione tensed.

And not with him drunk.

It was that thought that caused Hermione to reach out and grab her wand, the thought that Ron wouldn't want this, not really, not their first time, not with him drunk.

Would he even remember in the morning? Would he forgive her for letting him? Didn't they just talk about taking it slow?

She was disconcerted at the drop in her stomach as her fingers curled on her wand, as Ron's lips dropped and encased her nipple. It was disappointment. She didn't want to stop, not really. But she had to.

She whispered the spell against his fiery hair, the words that would have him sober in moments. She felt it happen, felt him come back to himself even as his hands were still stroking her bare skin.

"Fuck," he muttered and she watched his eyes go wide as he stumbled back and away from her. "Fuck Hermione, I'm so sorry!"

He turned his back and kept walking, reaching the door and leaning into it. His head hung. "Sorry, sorry."

And when months ago she would have taken this as a crushing rejection, now she just smiled fondly. He wanted this, it was obvious and she knew. He was disappointed in himself more than anything, probably thinking he had ruined things between them. She slipped a shirt over her head and hopped down from the desk, noting the tension in his shoulders as he winced.

"You know—" she started, moving forward, hearing the smile in her voice.

"I know, I'm sorry!" he interrupted. "I'm an arse, I really am. We'll go slow. I mean it, I'm sorry, it was the firewhiskey, it—"

"No Ron, I don't think this is going to work," Hermione said softly, coming to stand behind him.

"Hermione," his voice was strangled, hoarse, and it had nothing to do with the firewhiskey. She put her arms around his back, his solid, warm back, and hugged him tightly.

"Slow doesn't seem to be really working for us, does it?"

Then she laughed. He turned and she laughed again, giggled really, and it was so unlike herself that she couldn't help it and she couldn't stop.

He was grinning now too, sheepishly, but grinning. She reached up on her tiptoes to kiss him and felt it, felt the fire and the longing and the passion. It was all there, just under the surface, and it was all she could do to pull away. It would ignite again, and soon, she knew that. But…

"It shouldn't be here," she whispered, only inches from his lips. Her eyes were closed but she could feel him nod. "But soon," she continued. "It needs to be soon, I think."

His laugh rumbled from his chest and when she opened her eyes, she saw his sparkling with mirth.

"Yes, soon," he agreed, nodding. "We're pathetic."

She nodded through her laugh. "We really are."

"Australia?" he asked, leveling his gaze at her. And she wasn't sure if he was asking if he could come with her to Australia, or if he was asking if _it_ would happen in Australia, but she nodded. Because, yes, she wanted both.

O~O~O

The rooms were booked, the bags packed, and Hermione had cleared Portkey transportation for three to Australia.

_It seems I'm destined to travel in a group of three,_ she mused, smiling to herself. But it was different this time. This time there were two rooms booked, one for the boys and one for her, but she knew she wouldn't spend every night of this trip cold and alone. There was a buffer between her and Ron, not a best mate he was jealous of, whose motives he always questioned when it came to her; but a brother, broken and confused and hurting and needing them both. There was no one chasing them this time. There was no death threat hanging over them and their loved ones were safe. There was nothing to interrupt the long nights she would spend tangled in Ron's arms. And he would be there, with her, always.

Every time she felt that familiar clench of panic, that fear that seemed to have lived in her chest for the past who-knows-how-many years, she thinks of Ron. That he's hers, and she's his, and they've finally sorted that out and been given the time to enjoy it. Enjoy it, fight, bicker, make-up, fight again. Because she knew she'd never stop pushing him, and he'd never stop baiting her, because that was what they did. That is what she loved. The challenge. She didn't think she would be able to stand it any other way.

_My stubborn, red-headed git._

He was saying goodbye to his mother, hugging her tightly and promising to write and use the telephone. It had been Hermione's gift to the Weasley family. She got it just the other day, an old fashioned rotary phone that she had magicked into working. She thought it would be easier for them then the cell phone she had bought herself. But she wanted something for them and Ron and George to stay connected with. Mrs. Weasley seemed wary but Mr. Weasley was delighted. He beamed when she explained it and seemed overly excited about her phone that had "no wires at all!"

It was nice to see him excited like that, even if it was short lived.

They were still hurting. They would be for some time, of course. Maybe always. Anyone could see that. As difficult as it was for all of them, Hermione thought that maybe Mr. and Mrs. Weasley might have it the worst. No parent should lose a child. It has to be the worst pain.

It was why Hermione had erased all memory of her from her parents' mind. She didn't want them to hurt like that. She didn't want anyone to have to hurt like that.

That pain in Hermione's chest clenched every time she looked at Ron's parents. Mrs. Weasley, the strong woman who had killed the embodiment of every one of Hermione's nightmares, Bellatrix LeStrange. And yet watching her hug Ron now, she looked almost frail. And Mr. Weasley just looked lost behind his glasses. Who would help them?

Guilt at taking Ron and George renewed, surged. Hermione swallowed hard, hating the feelings that bombarded her. Hating that the panic and fear and guilt still plagued her, though with different sources. And in the end, the only thing she could think of to soothe them was to find her parents. Find them and bring them home and sleep in her own bedroom with them just down the hall. Eat breakfast in their cozy nook off the kitchen, watch the neighborhood kids kick a football down the street, chat with her mum while her dad yelled at the telly. Normalcy. She craved it.

Would she sleep better then? Would that fix it?

Not all of it, no, probably not. And even if it did, it wouldn't fix anything for Ron or Ginny or their mum and dad. Maybe nothing would.

Or maybe time would. Maybe given time, loads and loads of it, they could all find their way back together.

Hermione's eyes found Harry. He stood behind Ginny, his chin resting on her fiery hair, his arms wrapped loosely around her. She caught his eye and found the strangest thing there. Peace.

She couldn't remember ever seeing him like that. He had been haunted, always; by grief and loss, by the burdens he always took upon himself. But he wasn't now. Maybe he wouldn't be ever again. He seemed whole.

Every trial he had ever been through flashed through Hermione's thoughts. His parent's death, living with the Dursley's, Voldemort hunting him nearly every year of school, Snape and Dumbledore atop the tower, the battle, dying: more horror and tragedy than she had experienced by far. And there he stood. Smiling.

He cocked his head at her, questioning her stare. And she wiped tears she hadn't even realized had formed away with the back of her hand. He stepped around Ginny and folded her into an embrace. Long gone were the days when embraces from him would be awkward. He was Harry and she was Hermione and they were friends that had seen each other at the absolute lowest of their lows. She squeezed him tightly.

"They're alright, Hermione," he whispered. "You'll find them and it will all be okay."

She nodded into his neck.

"It's going to be okay, isn't it? All of this, it's going to be okay?"

He pulled back and looked her in the eye. "It is."

Simple and direct and honest. That was Harry. And resolution swept through her. It would be okay. All of it.

All they needed was time. And that was the one thing that surviving the war did promise them.

Time.

THE END

A/N Now I know most of you are yelling at me for how long this took to finish, and probably the same amount of people are yelling about me stopping things between Ron and Hermione. I am sorry on both counts. I needed to come back to this story because I hate leaving them unfinished. And yes, this is it. It's all over now. The support for this story has been so wonderful! I really appreciate all the heartfelt reviews I've received.

Fanfiction has become an outlet for me, a rarely used one, it's true, but an outlet just the same. I can let loose here in a way I find myself restricting when writing original pieces. I'm working on that, believe me! I'm currently working on my third original novel. Nothing published yet, but I've recently made up my mind that publication will happen for me sometime. So I'm plugging away. I think they say the average for most authors is publication by the time you've written your sixth or seventh book, something like that anyway. So with only two complete, I have my work cut out for me. I'm not sure if that number includes fanfiction.

As always, thank you in advance for your reviews. I don't always get the chance to respond, but I cherish each and every one of them. Thank you.

And as a last side note, I had considered doing a short story line with Hermione, Ron, and George in Australia. I do not think I'll ever have the time for that. But if anyone out there does, feel free! And let me know where to find it. I'd love to read it.

Cheers!

Ozma333


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